


be my atmosphere (let me breathe you in)

by barbiewrites



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Astronomy, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Healthy Relationships, Hospital Sex, Hospitals, How Do I Tag, I Made Myself Cry, Insecurity, Kinda, Letters, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Procedures, Minor Character Death, Pen Pals, Prophetic Dreams, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing Clothes, Stars, Terminal Illnesses, Unhappy Ending, i don't actually know if it's an unhappy ending to be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbiewrites/pseuds/barbiewrites
Summary: travis writes pen-pal letters.vaguely based off the movie 'five feet apart'





	be my atmosphere (let me breathe you in)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [By Tomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10872744) by [carlxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carlxy/pseuds/carlxy). 

> thank u to eldy for reading this and confirming that it is sad. ur the bomb.com
> 
> huge thank you also to people who post things on reddit, people who posted book reviews of five feet apart online, and to claire wineland because i would not have been able to finish this without those resources.
> 
> i do not have cystic fibrosis. i tried to make things as accurate as possible, but did take similar liberties as the book had for plot reasons.
> 
> here's a playlist, if you like that sort of thing: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL01bC0704jw-Iw5O374qQ4cGxOCAH5DEC

> Dear Penpal,  
  
What’s up? I’m Travis. I’m from Clachan, Ontario (which is a really small town kind of by London, if you know Ontario. Like, really small. One stop sign levels of small.) but I’m living in Philadelphia right now. I know you’re thinking - why would he leave the bustling streets of Clachan to go out to Filthadelphia? Here’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me: I’ve got cystic fibrosis.  
  
And I say it’s the most interesting thing that's ever happened to me because it’s pretty much the only interesting thing that's ever happened to me. It’s really boring to hear about (believe me, I got tired of listening to doctors tell me this and that about CF when I was, like, six) so I’ll give you the cliff notes. It’s genetic, terminal, and is like asthma on crack. Kind of.  
  
It basically takes all my bodily fluids that are supposed to be thin and lubey and makes them thick and sticky. Really great language, I know. The reason I say it’s like asthma on crack is that for most of us it’s the worst in our lungs. It’s really hard for me to exercise because my lungs work on like. 50% capacity on a good day. I have to wear a vest that vibrates so that it, like, dislodges all the mucus out of my system. Really cute stuff.  
  
You’re probably thinking by now that this is all super gross and that I’m an idiot for trying to start out a pen pal relationship by telling you all the nitty-gritty of my disease because you’re totally not going to respond. Which, you’re definitely not wrong about this being super gross, or me being an idiot. And I wouldn’t blame you for not responding, either.  
  
Truth is I’ve done this whole penpal thing about a dozen times. Sometimes I get a few letters back (one dude sent me a gift card for the movies a few years ago, then never sent me anything again) but they always die out pretty fast. I don’t blame them (or you, if you choose not to respond) for losing interest. You’ve got stuff to do that isn’t sit in a hospital room all day, and talking to some dude who is lowkey dying isn’t always the best picker-upper. Plus, I’d rather be upfront and get 0 responses than lead you on and then drop that I’m dying and never hear from you again. Still, I wouldn’t have written this if I didn’t want a response.  
  
Now that I’ve got all the boring, depressing and technical shit out of the way, stuff isn’t all bad here. I actually really like Philly, and the people in my ward are pretty fucking cool. Even my doctor is clutch. She’s married to one of our nurses and sometimes when one of them has a day off, they’ll bring in their mini cockapoos for a little while and they’re the cutest ever. They have an Instagram for them, too, because they’re Extra White. That’s Ryanne (the doctor) and Claude (one of our nurses). All of our staff are dog people, pretty much. Our other nurse on this floor is Shayne, who has three Frenchies, but he brings them in way less. My friends and I have actually gotten Claude and Shayne to come play Chel with us if we’ve all been good, which basically just means that we’re all on top of our daily treatments. I personally think that’s bull because he likes playing Chel anyway, so play it with us, but. I guess he’s gotta have some way to keep us on our plans.  
  
Speaking of us, I luckily am not the only one in my wing. We’ve got five rooms, but two are empty right now for the most part. I’m in room 11, rooms 13 and 15 are mostly empty (a dude named Kevin sometimes stays in room 13, but he’s in and out all the time) Carter (aka Hartsy) is in room 17 and Nolan (aka Patty) is in room 19. I like to bitch about how it’s all lonely on my end, and Patty likes to say there's a reason I’m two rooms down from him and Hartsy. Patty and I are best friends, no matter how much he tries to act like I’m a fly buzzing around his head. He’s just emotionally stunted for whatever reason (and still somehow claims that he’s dating a Swiss model). Hartsy is a really cool guy, though. We all like to hang out but it’s kind of awkward sometimes, ‘cause people with CF have to be six feet apart from other people with CF because of germs and shit.  
  
So hanging out in the hospital is mostly fine but sneaking out with both of them is awkward as hell because we’re either an eighteen-foot line trying to speak to each other or a very rigid and awkward triangle. Needless to say, we don’t all sneak out very often, but that’s fine because we’ve gotta have one person for a lookout. Usually, that’s Carter. We love hanging out with him but he’s first up on lung transplant list, so if something comes in, he’s gotta be there so he can get ready for surgery. Still, if we get food or anything, we always bring him stuff back because Patty and I are good bros like that.  
  
That’s basically the 411 on me. So, tell me about you.  
  
Hope to hear back from you,  
  
Travis.

Lawson reads the letter after going through his mail from a six-game road trip. It’s tossed in among bills and junk mail, and the thing that sticks out most is the fact that the ‘to’ address, his old house up in Ontario, has been crossed out and re-filled in with his new address. He vaguely recalls signing up for some pen pal thing back when he was a kid and never had gotten anything out of it, but apparently, his mom thought it was something he needed to see, so she’d sent it his way. He’s weirdly attached to it afterward, and reads it twice more that night, and then again in the morning after he wakes up.

Travis grew up not far from him at all and hell. They could have played on some of the same rec teams as kids. But here they were, with Lawson in Arizona playing professional hockey, and Travis in a hospital in Philadelphia. He seemed so casual with it all, which Lawson assumes means he’s been there quite a while. He writes back when he has some free time flying up to Winnipeg on their next roadie.

> Travis,  
  
Sorry for such a late response. To be honest, I signed up for a penpal thing when I was, like, sixteen, and had never heard from anyone until your letter arrived for me. Needless to say, I needed a day or two to process and decide if I wanted to answer. I’ve decided.  
It’s sick that you’re from Clachan, ‘cause I’m from south London, too. I grew up in Mount Brydges.  
  
I’m also no longer in Ontario, though, so we’ve got that in common. South Ontario boys who went across the border. I live in Arizona now, which is also where you should send your reply (if you choose to do so). You sent the last one to my mom, but she sent it my way anyway.  
  
I’m here playing hockey for the Coyotes. I kind of feel like I’m bragging right now, but you told me all about your life, so I feel like it’s only fair that I tell you about mine. I’ll try not to brag. But, yeah. I did what most South Ontario boys do to get into the big league. Bantam to midget to the O (I went fourth overall) and then got drafted in ‘15 to Florida, but I never played with them. I mean, I played two games in the A, but I didn’t score or anything, and then they sent me out here. Which, if you ask me, I won that trade. Being a Panther would have been cool but it’s so humid out there. At least the weather out in Arizona is a dry heat, you know? So you can cool off by getting in the pool. In Florida, it just felt like the humidity followed you everywhere. (Is it lame that I’m talking about the weather? That’s not the point. The point is, I like Arizona and I’m grateful to be here.) We’re on our way to Winnipeg right now for a bit of a roadie.  
  
Nolan and Carter sound cool, and so do Ryanne, Claude and Shayne. I’m putting in a picture of my dog for you since you seem to like them. He’s a Frenchie too and his name is Butter Pig Crouse. He’s kind of the best, but I’ll let you keep thinking the cockapoos are cute since you’ve never met him.  
  
My best friends on the team are Chych (Jakob), Kells (Clayton) and Stromer (Dylan), even though Dylan just got traded and now he’s off in Chicago doing big stuff. Chych and I live together down here and we room together on the road, so we’re around one another a lot. We’re kind of like peas in a pod, and we’re both pretty tall, blue eyes, blonde hair dudes. So, yeah. Peas in a pod. He’s also wicked good at hockey. Really aggressive, big body, but he’s balanced. He’s also just a really nice guy, and he loves his family. I always think that’s an important characteristic of people. Those are the people who have supported you to where you are, so you’ve gotta pay them back. I think he’s a great guy, is what I’m trying to say. Stromer used to be our third wheel, but we’re trying to fill his spot with Kells. He’s pretty much Stromer except he knows how to skate and he’s short, but more or less. Kells is a really great guy, too. He’s really smart, and he doesn’t live like a professional sports player (he drives a Camry ‘cause it’s got good mileage). He’s a great team player and has a really high hockey IQ.  
  
I think that’s all I have to say about myself. I’m going to send this when I land and I’ll be gone for a few days, but I hope to hear back from you. I hope you enjoy the picture of Butter.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Lawson.  
  
P.S. I have an Instagram for my dog, too. If you want to follow it, his handle is @butterpigcrouse.

Travis is pretty fucking overjoyed to get a response. Patty and Hartsy are pretty great and all, but it’s so nice to be able to talk to someone who isn’t…right there. It’s sick to get to talk to someone who lives in a different state, and who has seen enough of the same stuff as him, and who has seen so much more. Plus, pretty fucking sick that his pen pal is a fucking professional hockey player.

“He’s probably catfishing you through the mail, dumbass,” Nolan says when he’s informed that he’s being replaced as TK’s best friend.

“He sent me a picture of his dog.”

“Wow, someone googled some hockey player’s dog and printed a picture out. I guess I’ll tell Catfish not to come after all.”

“This is big talk from someone who claims to be dating a model,” Travis says, scowling. “How is me being pen pals with an NHLer somehow less realistic than you boning a European model?”

“I’ve literally told you a thousand times. We’re not dating.”

“Didn’t you say that he said he’s gonna take you to Switzerland?”

“Yeah, when I get new lungs.”

“Yeah, right. Totally not dating. I was actually thinking of taking Hartsy to Paris to be bros in the city of love.”

“Don’t be jealous of my whirlwind romance.”

“Not sure a weekend in Chicago counts as a whirlwind romance.”

“You have nothing to judge it off of, so I guess you wouldn’t know.”

“Maybe this can be my whirlwind romance,” Travis says. “Falling in love through letters is some movie shit.”

“Yeah, you can fall for some 40-something writing letters to a sick kid in his basement for fun.”

“He’s not forty, oh my God. None of this even seems like it’s catfishy!”

“It doesn’t really seem legit, either, though, so.”

“You’re just jealous he’s in Winnipeg and you’re not.”

“He’s not even there anymore, shut up,” Nolan scowls over the call.

“You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles,” Travis says quickly.

“And you’re gonna give yourself a stalker with these fucking letters you keep sending.”

“You wanna watch the Hawks game after dinner?” Travis asks.

“You just wanna see this dude play,” Nolan says all dramatic. “Yes.”

“See you there, Grumpy.”

Watching the game is fun. Claude only comes in twice to tell them to keep their six feet between them, and Nolan only creams himself over Toews, like, four times.

“I met him once,” he says after Toews scores. “When I was in Chicago.”

“Can you repeat?” Travis asks. “I didn’t hear you the first six times.”

Carter, at least, believes that Lawson is who he says he is, though Travis is pretty sure that even if Carter didn’t buy it he’d tell Travis he did just because Nolan keeps saying he’s a catfish.

“Who even catfishes someone via letter?” Travis asks when the game is over. “Like. What would he be trying to gain?”

“Your nudes, I don’t know. Maybe he’s trying to steal your identity.”

“There are way more interesting people to impersonate.”

“Whatever,” Nolan says, stopping at his door. “Don’t be an idiot. Night, guys.”

Carter waves and Travis calls goodnight, then turns towards Carter. “Do you really think he is who he says he is?”

Carter nods. “Yeah. I don’t think he’s given you, like. Any reason not to believe otherwise. That’s a pretty niche thing to catfish. You could ask for his Snapchat,” he suggests, lingering by his door.

“I wanna keep it written for now,” TK admits. “Maybe if we’re still talking in a few weeks or so.”

“That’s a good idea,” Carter nods. “Night, Teeks.”

“See you in the morning, Hartsy.”

Travis heads back and writes his reply.

> Lawson,  
  
I just watched you guys play the Hawks with Hartsy and Patty. We usually watch hockey together, ‘cause we’re all Canadians and all, but it was cool to watch you play even if you did lose. Speaking of Patty, Patty thinks you’re a 40-year-old catfishing me, but Carter and I aren’t as convinced. Maybe I’m too trusting, but you don’t give me 40-year-old vibes. Besides, Patty doesn’t really know shit. Maybe he’s a little jealous that I have a new friend and he can’t take up all my attention now.  
  
Speaking of, so sick that you play for the Coyotes. I was a Leafs fan growing up, but still. Cool that you made the big leagues, that’s a huge accomplishment. Even sicker that you played for Team Canada at World Juniors. That was hands down my favorite tournament growing up. I got so hyped every year because it was like, a triple whammy. Christmas, then hockey hockey hockey hockey, New Years, hockey. Also, thanks for winning us gold. Appreciate it, dude.  
  
I used to play when I was a kid, but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you it’s a demanding sport. I loved it, but I had to mostly sit out games because I couldn’t keep up with the pace and almost made myself pass out once. It’s pretty wack if you think about it. I’m supposed to exercise as part of my treatment plan but I can’t do the exercise I want. Nope, I’ve just gotta suffer going 3 miles per hour on the treadmill. Maybe I’ll convince Patty to sneak out with me so we can go skating. Glad you didn’t get stuck in Florida.  
  
Butter is a pretty sick dog. I put his picture up in my room, which I hope you don’t mind. I’m kinda stuck here, so I try and decorate my room a lot. Make it look less sterile than it smells. I’ve got other dogs up here, too, so Butter isn’t lonely. Ryanne lets us use her polaroid sometimes so I have a few of me and Cooper, Pippa, Louie, Harv and Charlie to keep Butter company.  
  
I wanted to send you a picture back but I don’t have a dog, so there's a picture of me. Which kind of seems weird, but I was thinking about it, and you’re obviously all over your dog’s Instagram, and you’re also tagged in the post, and also I could have just googled you and seen your face a thousand times. I’m pretty sure the only thing that comes up when you google Travis Konecny is a few pictures of me as a kid, so I wanted to kind of even the playing field. And you can’t tell it by the photo, but I’m 5’10”. And proud.  
  
I wish I had more interesting things to write to you about, but not much has changed since I sent my last letter. That’s another thing that sucks here. Routine, routine, routine. Don’t get me wrong, I know routine is important in a lot of aspects, especially for people in my situation. If I didn’t stick to my routine I’d pretty much kick my life expectancy in the balls, so I have that much to thank routine for. But, in the same breath, when you’ve been doing the same routine for as long as I have, it’s pretty fucking old. Same thing, same time, all day, every day. So, while I appreciate my routine for keeping me alive, it can get pretty boring. And it means I don’t have anything cool to tell you about. Actually, here's something cool I learned. 35-40 million years ago, penguins were, like, six foot and 250 lbs. I heard that on a trivia commercial today.  
  
Hope to hear from you again,  
  
Travis.  
  
P.S. I followed your dog. Hope you don’t mind.

He has a dream that night, of a red pickup. He’s in the middle of the front bench seat, looking out at the horizon. Things are blurry like he’s just waking up while he’s trying to see. There’s a bright, beautiful blue sky and lush green fields out on either side of him, but he wakes up before he can see the driver.

This reply comes a lot faster than the last.

> Hey Travis,  
  
Thanks for watching us play (: It might be silly, but I still think it’s cool when people go out of their way to watch us. And, yeah, obviously at all the games people are coming to do that, but it’s different when it’s one on one. And I know you’ve probably got other stuff to watch, other teams you’d rather see, so. Thanks. That was really cool of you.  
  
Not exactly sure how to respond to me being a catfish other than denial, but I think that if I really were catfishing you, I’d still deny it. So I guess we’re stuck in a bit of a loop there. I’m also not sure how to prove to you that I’m not a catfish. Maybe if you have any doubts, just tell me a pose or something in your next letter and I’ll mail you back a picture of me doing it. But, like, again. If I were actually a catfish, I’d only suggest that if I had a bunch of pictures of Lawson Crouse posing that I thought I could convince you with. And again on that note, since I am Lawson Crouse, I guess I do have an endless supply of pictures of me posing, I just need to take them. I feel like this is getting confusing.  
  
(Speaking of catfishes, isn’t he worried his boyfriend could be a catfish? If I were going to catfish someone, I’d be a European model, not a third liner.)  
  
I feel the same way about routine. When I was first in the A, I kinda hated the routine of it all. Practice, game, lose, practice, road trip, game, lose. Got pretty old pretty fast. And I don’t mean to compare my routine to yours, but I want to tell you that I know how it feels to be tired of routines -- routines that don’t seem to work, especially. Yours is obviously a lot more important than mine, but. Maybe I’m being insensitive, or silly, trying to compare our situations, and I know you’re not asking for advice, but. It’s good that you’re sticking to it, and having faith in the system. Keep doing that.  
  
The point of that was also to say that when I was in the A, I got to go to some cool places and kind of just… never took advantage of that. Now that I’m getting to fly all over the country whenever I want, I’m trying to take advantage more. I like getting to go out and do touristy stuff. The last time we were in Philly, Chych and I went to the zoo over there. Have you been? And how’d you exactly end up in Philly? Did you just pick a place and go?  
  
Also, this is probably silly, but I was in the gas station coming home from our roadie and they had those cheesy magnet stands right next to the counter. I was thinking about what you said about decorating your room so it seems less sterile, so. I got it for you. It’s cool if you just think it’s junk. You can send it back or give it to someone else or just put it in the bin. Whatever works.  
  
Also, don’t worry about having stuff to say. You can just ramble if you want. Tell me what it’s like living in the hospital, or stuff that upsets you, or if you think aliens are real or if you think dogs understand English. Whatever you want.  
  
Hope to hear from you soon,  
  
Lawson.

P.S. Thanks for the picture. You’re really handsome.

Travis puts his magnet up on a metal pane of his window. He’s fairly certain he’ll never get to see Arizona, but it’s cool to look at it when he looks out onto the street and thinks maybe he could get a view of miles of sand one day.

He also decides that Nolan is full of shit, and in general, should be disregarded. Lawson isn’t a catfish, and he can tell. He doesn’t know how, he just knows. Maybe he’s getting his hopes up, but he likes talking to Lawson. He’s sweet and thoughtful and it’s nice to think that he’s putting the effort in to talk to Travis. He feels special.

It’s kind of a win-win. He gets to talk to someone new, and it encourages him to stay on top of his treatments because if he doesn’t, Claude is gonna take away his rec room and mail privileges. And he doesn’t want to have to fight Claude, because it’d probably be embarrassing for Ryanne to watch him lose, so he’ll make sure he takes his pills.

> Lawson,  
  
as Canadians, Hartsy, Patty and I watch a lot of hockey. Duh. But I’m pleased to announce that I’ve converted Carter to a Yotes fan (at least when you guys aren’t playing the Oilers and are below them in the standings) and I think I’m making progress on Nolan, even though he basically calls himself a Jets fan (he’s from Winnipeg, unfortunately) while being a Blackhawks fan (have I mentioned his obsession with Jonathan Toews?).  
  
Time to tell you the legendary story of Nolan’s Week In Chicago. Basically, he spent a week in Chicago for some CF stuff but didn’t have to be in the hospital the whole time. He was staying in a hotel right next to the hospital and going in every day to see some specialist about his lung infection, blah blah blah. Long story short is that a Swiss model was staying in the hotel near him and they had a really great little week-long romance, and now they’re soulmates or whatever and when Nolan gets new lungs they’re supposed to go to Switzerland. Hartsy and I have never seen them interact at all, but Nolan’s shown us pictures of him, but we’re ‘not allowed’ to know his name. Also, he ran into Jonathan Toews at a juice bar. I keep telling him he should sign a book deal. That stuff would fly off the shelves ‘cause I’m fairly certain people who didn’t know him would believe him. And it’s not like he has anything better to do right now, and if he waits he might die. So, no, Nolan’s fake boyfriend isn’t a catfish. And also, I don’t think you are one, either. I thought about it, and Nolan doesn’t know anything about anything except maybe fishing.  
  
Carter’s family came this week. I love it when the guys’ families come visit (usually). His mom made me and Nolan scarves, too, so I’m chilling in my new Canada scarf as I write this right now. She also brought us Nanaimos, so basically she’s a saint.  
  
His sister talked to me and Nolan, though, about how she felt bad that we’ve gotta live in a hospital, and how much that must suck. And yeah, sometimes it does fucking suck. But I was thinking about it and it isn’t all bad, you know? Like, I have a call button. Do you know how much fun it is to make Claude and Shayne run back and forth through mine, Patty and Hartsy’s room? We literally make them play tag with us through the call button. And it’s even better because they basically have to do everything we say. Even if it’s just close my door or get me the remote that's just out of reach. The games of tag might be kind of lame ‘cause me, Pats and Hartsy can’t actually tag one another, but I still think they’re fun. It’s the little things. Another thing that's good about living in a hospital -- room service all day every day. And an endless supply of junk food, ‘cause we have like six vending machines on this floor. Free wifi, free cable, no bedtime, I never have to do laundry or even really get dressed. Claude and Shayne are also kind of obligated to listen to us bitch and moan about whatever we like, whenever we want to. Also -- pound music as loud as you want, ‘cause all the walls are soundproof.  
  
As far as how I ended up in Philly goes, I was recommended to go here. I used to go to one of the hospitals in London, but it was really, really far for my family to be driving all the time, so I lived there when I was a kid for a while, but. The thing about CF is that it kinda just wrecks your body.  
  
This is probably getting into TMI zone, but, whatever. When I was born, my life expectancy was 5 years. And then I turned four and it went to ten years. And then I turned nine and it went to fourteen. CF is progressive, so, like. As I get older, it gets worse. The whole thing about CF is that there’s no recovery. There’s only one end: die. The whole game is seeing how long you can live, you know? So me and Patty and Hartsy aren’t expecting a cure. We’re basically all just hanging out until some cool doctor discovers something that can keep us around a few more years, or until we get new lungs. So it’s kind of a paradox. I keep beating my life expectancy, but the sickness also keeps getting worse. It’s a game of treatment. You stick to your treatment, you tend to live longer.  
  
My point here is that I was basically too sick to stay in London, so I got recommended by my doctor to come out here because they’ve got a bunch of good CF resources and doctors and whatnot. And then I came out here, and the rest is history.  
  
On a lighter note, I bet Shayne that I could make a balled-up napkin into the trash across the room and I NAILED it, so he has to get me Chik Fil A for dinner. Winning.  
  
I hope you had a good week too.  
  
Talk to you next week,  
  
Travis

It’s almost concerning how excited Travis starts getting for the mail. Every day, except for Sunday, like clockwork. He won’t even wait in bed anymore. He wakes up, eats his breakfast, takes his meds, and goes down to the mailroom to pick up his letter. If he and Law both have good weeks, he’ll get one letter per week. On really good weeks, he’ll send and receive one within the same week, but sometimes his letter will arrive after Law has left for a road trip, and depending on how long it is, he just has to suffer through silence. He knows his hopes are way, way up, but he’s never had a penpal this long. It’s going to fucking suck when Law loses interest.

A fair bit of TK’s life is dedicated to thinking about his death. He’s basically been told since he could remember that death was nipping at his heels, so it’s not like he could forget that he was dying. He makes a note to Claude and Shayne to let Law knows if he kicks the bucket out of nowhere, just so he isn’t waiting for a letter that’ll never come.

Lawson sends him a bunch more magnets. He seems to try and get city-specific ones since he doesn’t want TK ending up with three generic ‘California’ magnets and three generic ‘New York’ ones. There are a few other ones, too, like a hockey one, and a Frenchie one, and one that says ‘TRAVIS’ in big block letters. He sends Travis an Oilers one, even, to give to Hartsy, and tells him to apologize to Nolan that he’s already been to Winnipeg this season.

Travis tries to send him stuff back but doesn’t always have stuff to send. Sometimes he’ll send Law polaroids from Ryanne’s camera, but Law usually sends them back ‘so you can keep it up on your wall.’

They send one another gifts for Christmas, too. He sends Lawson a pair of fuzzy slippers ‘because I live in these and I’m positive anyone who doesn’t wear them all the time just hasn’t tried them’ and gets a corkboard, a bunch of pushpins, and a polaroid in return. He pretends to be annoyed in the next letter that he sends, but doesn’t forget to include a picture he made Claude take of him smiling widely in front of it with his pictures already arranged neatly on it.  
He gets his reply back a few days before New Years and manages to send one off on the 31st himself. The next one comes in on the tenth, and Travis doesn’t respond until the seventeenth.

> Law,  
  
Sorry for the late response on this one. It’s been a pretty shit week out here in the CF ward. I’ve tried to write to you a few times, but I kept getting frustrated with what I was writing, and I was upset anyway. I just wanted to send you anything, so you know I’m not dead. And even if I was, I asked my nurses to let you know if I do die out of nowhere (which might actually happen). So. Like I said, pretty shit week. This might be a depressing letter.  
  
It started when Carter got an infection. Which, normally, no big. But since having CF means that your immune system is a little bitch, it was kind of a big deal. He’s doing better and Ryanne says he’ll be fine in a few days if everything goes to plan, but the timing of it is all fucking shit.  
  
It’s Provy’s birthday this week. I’ve never mentioned Ivan before but he’s the fucking coolest. He used to be my neighbor over in room 9. Yeah, there’s a room 9. Right at the start of the hall, but no one lives there right now, and I kind of just try to ignore that it exists these days.  
  
Before Nolan and Hartsy showed up, it was me and Provy. And we were neighbors, so we were basically inseparable. If we weren’t together in person, we were on FaceTime. He started the game of tag, too. We used to play soccer in the hallway all the time, even though Shayne and Claude used to get so mad at us. But, hey. When you’re dying, getting nagged about playing hallway soccer at 2 am isn’t really high up on your list of concerns. For a few months, we were the only people consistently in here, so we basically had no choice (not that we wanted one) but to hang out all the time.  
  
He’s the happiest person I’ve ever known, CF or not. I don’t know how he did it. I’m happy, you know? And even when I’m not, I can cover it up. But he was just… like sunshine. Being around him just made you want to smile and look up to the sun and be glad you’d made it that far. He was around when I first showed up and he really changed things for me, you know? I’d never met someone like him before. He’d do anything just to get a smile out of you, even when you’re in recovery from surgery or you’re crying or just in a bad mood. He just wanted to see his friends smile.  
  
He’s also where I got my habit of sneaking out -- he showed me all the emergency exits and roof accesses around the hospital and everything. He had such an unwavering sense of positivity, even when he was hacking up mucus every other minute. I never heard him complain, or be down in the dumps. He really loved babies. There’s this room on the third floor for babies with CF, and you can see them in their little… pod things through this big window. He loved going up there and just… looking at them. (They’re pretty cute.) Little kids at all, really. Even when, like, kids walked up to him in public and asked to try on his air he’d let them. Which, yeah, I would too, but I’m not doing that without sanitizer on hand. There's nose shit on these things.  
  
The point of all of this is that he was my best friend. He never got annoyed at me for talking too much or had days when he just couldn’t handle being around others or kept anything from anyone. He loved talking to people and making friends and sharing. He used to decorate his room for holidays, too. It was so cute. He even left candy outside so the little kids (they live on a different floor) could come by if they wanted. And he did secret Santa stuff and made everyone Valentines on Valentine’s day and egg hunts on Easter. He had these dumb bunny ears and bunny nose that he wore, too, and Nolan used to piss himself laughing when he saw Ivan wearing them around. He used to celebrate Russia Day, too. He had this huge Russian flag hung over his bed (we used to tease him about it all the time and ask why his Serbian flag was upside down. Don’t judge us. We can only sit in this hospital wing for so long before we make dumb jokes, okay?) and he’d take it down and wear it as a cape with his ushanka (you know the hat Russian people wear in movies to show that they’re extra Russian? That's the one). I don’t know where he stored all of this stuff during the rest of the year but he made it all work.  
  
I miss him so much.  
  
It was his birthday on the thirteenth, two days after Carter got his infection and they basically quarantined Nolan and I into our rooms to sanitize everything again. We were allowed to walk around again by then but I stayed in my room all day, and I’m pretty sure Patty did, too. I did get up in the middle of the night to just look at his room, but Shayne told me I should go back to bed. I wasn’t sleeping anyway, but whatever. I just wanted to feel close to him again.  
  
(Instead of going back to bed I snuck out to the park and sat under our tree. He has his initials carved into it. Patty was out there, but we both just kind of laid in the grass and didn’t say anything for an hour or two. Claude got mad at us when he found us.)  
  
He died at the end of summer last year.  
  
It’s a really weird thing because he always used to talk like he was never going to die. He’d go on for ages about all the stuff he wanted to do and this and that like he forgot he was supposed to die in a year. It’s a weird balance, you know? It’s not like I don’t kind of expect, at some degree, that someone is going to tell me three months before I’m supposed to die that I’m actually supposed to live for three more years, but then again, I also don’t expect that I’m not going to die at some point in the foreseeable future. It’s weird, I don’t know. My point is that Provy wasn’t like that. He never wanted to wait for this disease to be over, he just wanted to live and go out there and make it happen. He didn’t give a fuck, sick or not, whether he was supposed to live or not, he was just going to do it. He knew he was here at the hospital to heal, but once he got cleared, he was gonna move mountains and go do everything he ever wanted.  
It fucking sucked that every time he thought he was close to being able to leave, some test came back saying ‘hey, here's something else that's wrong with you.’ He never seemed to care that most people thought in order to have a rich life, it had to be long. He just wanted to die proud of what he’d done, you know?  
  
It still fucks me up to think about his death. I was just in bed, like fucking always, and I saw Shayne walk by my door over to Provy’s room and then suddenly it was happening. He was yelling for Ryanne and Claude and usually when you hear a code blue you’re supposed to just stay out of the way, but. That was my best friend. And I couldn’t just fucking sit while he maybe died, you know? So I went out into the hall and looked, and it’s not like I could even see anything, because there were a hundred people crowded around his bed. I don’t even remember who it was that made me get back in my room, but I remember yelling at him. I was yelling his name like if he heard me he’d decide to just not die. I think that was the worst day of my life.  
  
Shayne brought the Frenchies in the next day so that we’d all have something to cuddle with. And I know he meant it to be a happy thing, right? But it kind of just reminded me of the fact that I never got to hug my best friend. I think sometimes people take touch for granted, right? Like, here. Cuddle this dog. I love dogs, dude. I think they’re fucking awesome. But I didn’t want to hug a dog, I wanted to hug Ivan. And I wanted to be able to give him a fucking high five, or shoulder check him in the hallway, or sit next to each other on a couch with our shoulders touching or hold his fucking hand or rub his back. I just wanted to touch my best friend, you know?  
  
That week was hell. Not only had my best friend died (can I even say it was out of nowhere if we’ve all been getting told we were going to die since we were born?) but I had to watch my other two best friends mourn and try to help them from six feet away. You know when you see people mourn in movies? How people are always holding one another, and hugging them, and rubbing their backs and wiping their tears and holding their hands? I don’t know how I’m supposed to help them.  
  
(I wrote Hartsy and Patty letters this year. Just telling them I loved them. Feelings are a lot easier to write than say, you know?)  
  
I wish I was like Provy in the sense that he just made everyone smile so easily. It was like he wasn’t even trying, you know? If he were here, I know two things. First, he’d know what to do. He always did. His English wasn’t perfect but fuck if he didn’t always know what to say. Second, he’d tell us to stop moping around. He wouldn’t want us to be sad, he’d just want us to do what we could to live as he would. Without boundaries.  
  
I know this isn’t like my usual letters to you. Sorry, I know, but this is all that’s been on my mind this week. He was a big part of my life, and I’ve been missing him a lot this week. I wish I had something good to tell you. Maybe that Claude brought donuts in today to try and cheer us up? I don’t want to be depressing (I say after recalling my dead best friend in detail) and ruin your day. I hope you had a good week (your goal against LA was really nice) and that you have a good week next week, too.  
  
Talk to you later,  
  
Travis.  
  
P.S. Happy three monthiversary. This is the longest I’ve ever had a penpal.

That night, he has the driving dream again. It’s the exact same as last time, but he can see a little clearer. He’s leaning up against someone, holding onto their arm while they drive. The windows are rolled down, soft country coming over the speaker, and the sun warms his skin through the sunroof while the wind cools him back down. Again, he wakes up when he turns to see his driver.

The response he gets is in a fancy priority mail envelope and is short but sweet.

> Teeks,  
  
I’m sorry for your loss. That stuff is never easy. Writing this is gonna make me late for my flight, but I just wanted to let you know that you’re in my thoughts this week, and if you still feel down, know I’m rooting for you. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but I’m in your corner. I also hope you’re living how Ivan would want you to too, okay? Don’t wait to be perfectly healthy to do what you want. You’re an incredible guy, and you make me smile every time I get a package with your name on it. I’m really lucky to have a friend like you.  
  
I hope this week is better than the last one. I’ll write you a better letter on the plane, but I wanted this one to get to you ASAP.  
  
Thinking of you,  
  
Lawson.

Travis keeps all of his letters in an old shoebox. He has each one, in its original envelope, organized by date, oldest to newest. Before he had Lawson he kept the box tucked away in the closet, seeing as he only ever had a couple of letters in there. Now, though, it stays next to his bed, always in arms reach. Whenever he’s not feeling the best, he pops one out and reads one of Lawson’s letters. Nolan makes fun of him for it, but Nolan makes fun of him for everything, so he doesn’t read too deep into it.

Things go back to normal. Hartsy gets better, Nolan buys a penny board so he can roll up and down the hall instead of walk, and Travis’ board of photos keeps getting bigger. He loves it.  
He does end up sneaking out to go skating with Patty. They’re both careful about bundling up and staying apart, as always -- at this point, it just seems like second nature. They go on a weekday so it isn’t too busy out and have nearly the whole rink to themselves. Travis chirps Nolan about his skating, and Nolan threatens to check him.

They get cocoa on their way back, and the barista comments on what a cute couple they are. Which, whatever. It’s no big deal, really. He doesn’t give half a fuck, really, but as they’re walking back Nolan’s phone starts ringing.

“Is it Hartsy?” He asks, praying the answer is no so that they don’t have to power walk all the way back.

“It’s Nico,” he says. “Do you mind if I talk to him?”

Travis shrugs. “Go for it.”

They’re not even saying anything that interesting, really. It’s just mushy bullshit and Nolan hearing about his week (Travis thinks, at least) and whatever else is going on in his life. This is the most proof he’s ever had that Nico exists in any degree. Nolan starts talking about his week, too, and how he and Travis just finished skating.

He’s definitely overthinking it, he knows, but he wonders what it’s like to be like that with someone.

That evening, after dinner, Travis goes and knocks on Carter’s door.

“Come to the rec room with me,” he whines.

“I have to get my vest on for, like, half an hour,” he says, making a face.

“Will you meet me after?”

Carter nods, so TK gives him a thumbs up and shuts his door so he can cough up mucus in privacy.

Travis just goes straight to the rec room, which was completely empty save for the smell of disinfectant. He slouches into one of the beanbag chairs, then pulls a pocket hand sanitizer out of his sweats and spreads some over his hands. He pulls his nasal cannula out and sets it on his stomach, then leans back to look up at the speckled ceiling. He takes a few big breaths and just stares up at it, swallowing and blinking.

He sits up, suddenly, and grabs the pen from his bag, then writes out ‘tell Lawson about stars’ on the back of his hand before putting the pen back and going back to staring at the ceiling.

Carter comes in what he assumes is about half an hour later. “Hey,” he says.

“Are you a virgin?” Travis asks, sitting upright.

Carter laughs in the doorway, then walks over and pulls the other bean bag another foot away before sitting down in it. “Um. Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess you are or you are?”

“No, like. I am.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“What?” Carter asks, flushing. “Why?”

Travis’ expression drops. “Shut up. Have you?”

“Who told you? Shayne?”

Travis picks up a bouncy ball and chucks it at Carter’s head. “No one! Who did you kiss?”

“It wasn’t here! It was back in Edmonton.”

“That’s literally not my point, you ass. Who? When? Why am I the only one here who’s going to die a virgin?”

“Virginity,” he says, pointing at Travis, “is a social construct. And -- Don’t say that. I’m sure Nolan is gonna die a virgin, too.”

“Oh my God,” Travis groans, looking back up at the ceiling. “I’m -- not even going to die a virgin. I’m going to die an extra virgin. I know that, like, in the scheme of things it doesn’t matter, right? It doesn’t. It literally doesn’t matter at all. I’m still valid.”

“Mhm,” Carter agrees.

“I just want to know why everyone is so obsessed with it. We get it. It’s sex. Whatever. Whoop-de-do,” Travis huffs.

“Someone’ll kiss you sooner or later, Teeks.”

“How? I can’t kiss you, or anyone else in the ward, and it’s not like I’m allowed to go bar crawling anyway. And it’s not like anyone wants to kiss the sick dude anyway.”

“Have you tried Tinder?”

“Oh, yeah. Come fuck me in my hospital room. Maybe Claude will come in and remind me to take my meds while he’s balls deep.”

“I bet there are people out there with hospital fetishes.”

“Great. Just what I wanted.”

“You’ll find someone, Teeks, I know it.”

“But how?” He whines. “I’m always stuck here and -- you and Nolan and Provy all found someone outside of here.”

“First time for everything?” He says, cocking his head.

Travis bites his lip. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Hey, at least if you’re a virgin, if a cult ever needs a sacrifice, you can be one. Or you can say that Virgin Airlines is named after you. Or the Virgin Islands!”

Travis snickers. “Shut up, man,” he says, but he’s smiling. “Chel?”

“Yeah, dude. Let’s go.”

> Law,  
  
I’ve had a revelation. Sex is dumb.  
  
And yes, this is coming from a virgin (you’re shocked, I know), but hear me out. Like, who cares? Movies and TV shows make everything seem so fancy and special and whatever, but how good can it really be? Like is it that much better than jerking off? I think not. The same with wearing someone else’s clothes. Fuck that. It’s a shirt. Big deal who it belongs to. If you want clothes that are second hand, go to a fucking thrift store.  
  
This isn’t even relevant, but fuck romantic movies. Especially fuck tropey ones. No one gives a fuck about slow dancing or kissing in the rain.  
  
Am I technically even a virgin? If virginity isn’t real, how can being a virgin be real? It can’t, exactly. So I’m really upset about nothing, but at the same time, I am upset about something because even though virginity isn’t real, the construct of it is.  
  
And this isn’t coming from a religious place or anything. It’s just my own thoughts. I talked to Carter about it today (shortly after finding out I’m the only one in the ward who has never been kissed, imagine that) because Nolan and I went skating today (which was so fun. I’m also a way better skater than him, FYI, but it was fun none the less) and on our way back two things happened. Firstly, when we were getting cocoas, the barista said we looked like boyfriends. And after that, when we were walking back, his boyfriend called him.  
  
I’m torn, dude. Half of me is like, relationships and love and sex and all of that shit is just a fucking social construct to trick people into feeling fulfilled and keep us busy and complacent and not focusing on important stuff like deforestation and corruption. The other half is like, what do you know.  
  
I hate to keep going back there, but I wish Ivan was here. He’d know what to say, you know? I think he’d tell me to stop waiting to be healthy to fall in love do something about it.  
  
The obvious answer is to just have sex so I can tell if I’m right or wrong, but. No one really wants to bone the sick guy, so I just gotta wait till I’m finished with my program and they send me out into the world, I guess. Fingers crossed we make it there.  
  
Sorry. I’m sure, as a sex-haver, you can tell I’m just rambling and ranting about nonsense. What I really wanted to talk to you about was stars.  
  
  
I dunno if you ever noticed the stars when you were up in Mount Brydges, or if they’re even decent up there, but that’s something I miss so much about Clachan. I guess it’s a good thing it’s so small, ‘cause there's basically no light pollution so you can just see the most gorgeous sky. And there are so many shooting stars, too. I haven’t been up there in a while, but I miss it a ton.  
  
Space is pretty cool. Maybe it’s ‘cause that's where we’re all from. Like, all of our atoms originated in space. Maybe that's why I like stars so much. ‘Cause one day all of those stars are gonna end up as parts of people. And that’s cool. We’re made of stars.  
  
My grandfather was big on stars. He had CF too, but his was way less severe than mine. He had to have a lung transplant but he was old when he died for someone with CF. I don’t remember him, but he was big into the stars. He left me all of his telescopes and star maps and everything. Maybe if you’re ever in Clachan at the same time as me, I could show you.  
  
I love shooting stars, too, even if they aren’t actual stars. I’ve never seen any here in Philly, but I still look out my window for a little while every night just in case, you know?  
  
Thanks for listening to me ramble. As you can tell, it’s been a slow week around here. I hope yours was more interesting.  
  
Talk to you later,  
  
Travis.

His response comes right on time.

> T,  
  
Not going to lie, a lot of that last letter made me laugh.  
  
I don’t think it’s a big deal that you’re not having sex. You have bigger things to worry about, you know? Other people are pretty much always gonna be around to bang, so. Don’t think about it. The time will come.  
  
(That being said, interesting take on social constructs. You might just be right there, too.)  
  
I do remember the stars up in Mount Brydges, yeah. And they’re pretty good! I think they’re probably better in Clachan since we probably have some light from London messing with our view, but yeah. I remember them. For some reason when we were kids we thought that when a shooting star landed, it turned into a firefly? So we’d run around catching them in jars and say we caught shooting stars. It was dumb but cute.  
  
My week was okay. We’re in the middle of a homestay, so that’s nice. All management seems to be able to talk about is playoffs and whether or not we’ll get there, and if Minnesota does this and if Chicago does this and if this and this and this then we’ll make playoffs, or if this and this happens then we won’t. It’s a lot, you know? I get that having a goal in mind to work towards is good, but in my opinion, it should be at the back burner. If we focus on winning the game in front of us, then we’ll be okay (at least I think. I try to listen to that playoff stuff but honestly, some of it gets so confusing I just get overwhelmed and can’t listen. Too many conditions).  
  
But, hey. I’m glad you and Nolan got to go skating. That sounds like a lot of fun, and I’m sure any chance to get out of the hospital is a good time.  
  
Another thing that happened to me -- Butter got out earlier yesterday. I let him out into the yard like usual but I guess I didn’t close the side gate, or maybe the lawn guys didn’t. Point is, I went out there to check on him and bring him in and he was nowhere to be found, and the side gate was wide open. So obviously I was freaking out, right? I grabbed all the stuff from inside, like treats and his leash in case I found him and went around the neighborhood all day. I was bringing him in to go to practice (it was optional) and ended up spending literally all day running around my neighborhood looking for him. It was kind of awful, you know? There are snakes all over the place here, plus cars and whatever else. And I wanted to find him before it got dark out and coyotes and everything started coming out. I went back home at, like, seven to try and maybe see if he had come back home and guess where he was. In the backyard. I closed the gate when I first left and didn’t even check the rest of the yard, so I’m assuming he was hanging out in the shade and I just didn’t notice him? So, yeah. I spent my whole day stressed for no reason. Luckily, I had your letter to read when I got home, so it lifted my mood.  
  
I’ll talk to you next week,  
  
Lawson  
  
P.S. I think Ivan would say that, too, and I think he’d be right. Maybe you’re not looking in the right places?

In March, TK gets cleared to go home for a few days to celebrate his birthday. They have an early birthday party at the hospital and Shayne brings in cupcakes and they all sing Travis happy birthday and give him gifts. He gets a desk light in the shape of a moon from Carter, frames for his polaroids from Claude and Ryanne, a hydroflask from Nolan, and a waterproof speaker from Shayne. In all, pretty great fucking birthday. His mail comes in as he’s on the way to the airport, so once he gets home and spends some time with his family, he sits down to write Lawson back.

> Law,  
  
Did you notice the return address? I’m in Clachan! Exciting, right? I basically begged Ryanne to let me go home for my birthday (yes, it’s my birthday tomorrow, but since you didn’t listen to me last time when I told you $20 for Christmas gifts, and I don’t trust you now to listen to me, either.) and now I’m here! I know South London is pretty much all fields and corn and snow and whatever, but I’m happy to be home. I’m gonna get to do whatever I want!! I get to drive a car! Yeah, I still have to do, like, four hours of treatments every day, but I’m not bound to a hospital room! And my bed doesn’t smell like rubbing alcohol!  
  
One thing I do miss is my friends. I moved to London when I was really young so I don’t really know anyone here, but I’m happy just to hang out with my family. I know that Patty and Hartsy were both stoked on my behalf to come out here, though, so I’m trying not to focus on how much I miss them and more on having fun while I get to be here.  
  
I’ll take a bunch of pictures to send you, too. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off, but I’m really hoping I can go hunting while I’m out here. I don’t think I’ll be able to go deer hunting or anything like that (you can tell I’m an awful Ontario boy, I don’t even remember when hunting season up here is) because of hiking and carrying and I’ll probably have a coughing fit right as we’re seeing anything, but I think we might be able to do some duck hunting. And fishing! I get to go fishing!!  
  
I’m gonna cut it short this week just ‘cause I wanna go hang out with my family. Sorry, that sounds selfish. I promise I’ll tell you all about my week when I get back to Philly! Also, make sure not to send a letter here, ‘cause by the time it arrives, I’ll already be back in Philly.  
  
Can’t wait to hear from you again,  
  
Trav

He tries not to think about Lawson too much, but that doesn’t really work. He’s from the same area, and he’s seen pictures of Lawson fishing, and in camo, so he’s pretty sure if Lawson were here he’d be having tons of fun.

“Who even is this guy?” Chase laughs one day. “Your boyfriend or something?”

“Pull,” Travis says, and Chase throws the skeet up. Travis follows it with his dominant eye, then pulls the trigger and it cracks into chunks before falling. “Fucking wish I had a boyfriend. He’s my penpal.”

“Penpal,” he laughs while Travis reloads. “You talk about him like he’s your boyfriend.”

“He’s from the area, I just think he’d like some of this stuff. Pull.”

Chase chucks another one into the air and he shoots and misses. “Tough,” Chase says, and Travis drops the gun to his side.

“Fuck me, dude,” Travis shakes his head. “Who’s next?”

His dad takes the gun and steps out towards the field for Chase to chuck more clay pigeons.

“Do you think he’s cute?” His mom asks after a moment, both of them sitting on the tailgate.

“Huh?”

“Lawson,” she says like it’s painfully obvious. “You do, don’t you? I can tell.”

“What?” He laughs. “No, no. It’s not even like that. We just write letters to one another.”

“You think he’s sending magnets to other boys, Trav?” She teases, and he laughs at her. “Well, he’s all you can talk about,” she says, smiling softly.

“He’s a professional hockey -- stop!” He laughs, bumping her shoulder. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s not like that. We’re just good friends. He doesn’t like me like that.”

“Do you like him like that?” She asks, trying to make eye contact with him despite how his head is hung.

“I don’t -- I haven’t even, like. Let myself think of it like that, you know?”

“Why not?” She asks. “I think he really likes you, Travis. He’s spending all this time writing you letters and getting you gifts.”

“Stop,” he groans, grinning.

“See, you know I’m right!” She laughs.

“I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he says, shaking his head. “He doesn’t -- he hardly knows what I look like. And I don’t think he, like,” Travis swallows, trying to get sudden tightness in his throat to go away. “I don’t think he really understands how sick I am? But, I mean. That’s not his fault, I don’t really like talking about it to him more than I have to. He doesn’t pity me, and I don’t want him to.”

“Babydoll,” she says and hugs him close. “I don’t think he’d pity you. How you talk about him… I think he knows just how tough you are. No one thinks what you’re doing is easy, you know that?” She hugs his head to her chest.

“Yeah. I just -- I don’t think he sees me like that, you know? And I don’t want to make things weird. He’s a really good friend to me. I’m so grateful for him.”

“I know, babydoll,” she says, rubbing his back. “So you think he’s cute?”

“Mom,” he laughs again. “Yeah,” Travis says after a minute, “he’s good looking.”

“Who’s next?” Chase calls, and Travis looks up. His mom slips off the tailgate and pushes up her sleeves, holding her hands out for the shotgun.

“Time to show you boys how it’s done.”

He thinks time is unfair. Sitting back at the hospital, in his vest, hacking up mucus, those thirty minutes feel like hours. But out here, shooting clay pigeons with his family and hanging out on the tailgate, hours feel like minutes. Days feel like hours. He’s only there six days, but it feels like he’s just arrived on his last night.

They have a family dinner and play board games, all crowded around the coffee table stacking tiny wooden bricks or playing war. It’s late when everyone heads to bed, or at least he thinks. He leaves his cannula in his room and brings a blanket out onto the back porch.

He sits down, then cuddles up and rests back to look up at the stars. He’s lucky that the moon isn’t too big, just the tiniest sliver, and he can still see plenty of twinkling lights up in the sky.

“You’d better not be sleeping out here,” his dad’s voice says, and TK looks over to see him heading out onto the porch.

“I’m awake,” he promises.

“C’mere, share that. It’s cold out here.” TK lifts one edge of the blanket and scoots, letting his dad put an arm around him. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Travis rests his head on his dad’s shoulder, “I forgot to tell Law about the stars. In my letter. You can see Perseus and Andromeda out here.”

“Oh yeah?”

Travis nods. “They’re lovers.” He points up to the sky. “That’s his back leg, and then his other leg -- it looks sort of like he’s falling backwards right now, or like a weird M. And Andromeda is right there, like a really skinny V. She got chained to a rock so a sea monster could eat her, but Perseus saved her, ‘cause he thought she was beautiful or whatever. Something like that. Saw it in a documentary.”

“You watch a lot of those.”

Travis shrugs. “Got a lot of time to watch ‘em.”

His dad lets out a breath, and he can tell that it’s one of those smug, happy dad breaths.

“What?” He laughs.

“Nothin’, kiddo.”

“Just say it,” TK laughs. “I already know what you’re gonna say.”

“Then I don’t have to say it after all, eh?”

“It’s not like that. We’re not like that, at all.”

“Do you think about it? What it would be like if it were?” He asks.

Travis shakes his head instinctually. “I don’t -- mom, like. Planted the idea in my head, and I’ve been trying to shake it.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s about as realistic as me waking up tomorrow and being healthy,” he laughs a little. “That’s a movie, dad. That’s not real life.”

“Says who?”

“Logic?”

“Are you scared?” He asks.

Travis thinks for a while. “Yeah, I guess,” he responds. “I really appreciate him. I don’t want him to stop writing to me.”

“If he stops writing to you over something like that, he never deserved you in the first place. Why would you want to be friends with someone who would leave you because of that?”

He shrugs. It’s easy for everyone else to say who can just go out and not have to worry about dirty looks or people pulling their children away from him, or to see the panicked, selfish look people get in their eyes when he has a coughing fit.

“Are you maybe scared you’ll leave him, too?”

TK bites at his lip a little. “Um,” he says, scowling up at the stars. “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel a little selfish, you know? Making friends with him when I know I could, like. Die any day.”

His dad rubs his back. “You still miss him, huh?”

Travis nods, quickly, and takes a deep breath as he tears up. “Yeah,” he says shortly. “I miss him a lot.”

They’d known Ivan well. They didn’t come around a ton, because basically all their money went to Travis’ treatments and programs, but maybe once every year or so they got to come by or bring Travis up, usually the former. And Provy had been around enough to meet them a few times, to befriend Travis’ family. They felt it, too, when he passed.

He remembers how sorry they’d been that they couldn’t come down when he passed last year and be there for him.

“It’s okay, Trav,” he says gently. “You can let it out.”

He gasps a little and then shuts his eyes, tears leaking over his cheeks. His chest heaves, letting out sob after sob.

“I need,” he gasps, a shaking hand coming up to point, and his dad leans over and hands him his cannula. He presses it against his nose, feeling the relief of that little burst of air while the cold air burns his warm tears against his cheeks. His dad pulls his sleeve over his hand and wipes his cheeks, helping TK tuck the cannula tubes behind his ears.

“It’s okay,” he promises gently. “It’s all going to be okay, Trav. He knows, eh? He knows how much you loved him. You didn’t need to touch him for him to know. He’s so proud of you, bud, I know he is.”

“I miss him so much,” Travis sobs. “Why did -- it wasn’t fair.”

“I know,” he hugs Travis tighter. “None of it is, kiddo. None of this is.”

Travis’ breathing slowly comes back to normal, or at least as normal as it got for him. “It just fucking sucks,” he sighs, putting his head back on his dad’s shoulder.

“All we can do is remember him, bud. He was always so smart, always wise for his age.”

Travis’ mouth twitches, and he watches a star shoot across the sky.

“What do you think he’d say?” Travis asks, “About… Lawson.”

“I think he’d tell you to stop waiting for it to be perfect,” he tilts his head, resting it on top of Travis’. “I think he’d tell you to live without any regrets and to stop letting your sickness decide where you can and can’t go.”

His dad makes him come in, scared Travis will fall asleep out here without his cannula on and freeze his lungs or something, so he walks him to his room and kisses his head goodnight. That night, Travis dreams about the endless road.

In the London airport, he buys a shitty, generic magnet with a Canadian flag and ‘London’ above it in block letters to send back to Lawson. When he gets back to Philly, there's an envelope and a box waiting for him. He switches his cannula over to his concentrator and sits down to tear into his letter.

> Teeks,  
  
I’m so happy for you. I’m so glad that you get to do that, man! Congrats! And happy birthday! I still sent you a gift, so I hope that's arrived by the time you get there. No givebacks ‘cause I really hope you like them. (Really, though, if you don’t you can give them back and I’ll order you something else. No big.) I hope you drove your car all over Clachan, and that you basked in a room that didn’t smell like disinfectant. Really. I’m so happy for you. I’m glad you cut your last letter short to go hang with your family. I’d be more upset knowing you got that chance and spent all your time writing me a long letter.  
  
I’m looking forward to seeing all those pictures and hearing about hunting. I’ve been a few times but never caught anything too big. I’ve gone clay pigeon shooting if that counts? I’m decent at that. Fishing, too, now that I’m thinking about it. I bet you’re good at it, so maybe if we’re ever in our hometowns at the same time, you could give me a lesson and help me be better at it.  
  
Speaking of… You can totally tell me if I’m overstepping, or if I’m being weird. Chych said it was casual, though, so I just wanted to extend an offer to you to come to the Flyers game when we’re in town? It’s on the 29th. You can bring Nolan and Carter, too, if they can come. If you can’t, or even if you don’t want to, I get it. No hard feelings and I still want to keep writing to you, if you want. I just thought it might be cool to meet. And if you want to hang out after, or even before. Or the next day, if that works better for you. Our next game is in Jersey, so we have the following day off. If you just wanted someone to keep you company outside the hospital, too, we could do that. Like… the zoo? Or the Franklin Institute has an observatory, if that’s something you’d think is cool. Whatever you want, though.  
  
Butter says hi (:  
  
Looking forward to hearing from you again,  
  
Law.

He bolts out of bed, pulling his cannula off his face so he can rush to Nolan’s room without having to drag his bag over there.

“Nolan!” he calls, pounding on the door. “Wake up. I need your help, hurry up. Open the door. I know you’re in there. Open up. Open the door.”

“Open it!” Nolan calls, and Travis does. “Oh my God, you’re irritating. Why do you have to be constantly screaming?”

“Read this!” He holds it out as far as he can, walking over to Nolan’s bed.

“I’m really not interested in reading your fucking fanfic, dude,” he says, but reaches to grab it anyway.

“Just the last paragraph,” he says. “I’m serious! Or I’ll fucking cough on you.”

“Relax!” Nolan says back, “Can you stop yelling so I can focus?”

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” Claude asks, tugging TK back by the neck of his shirt. “Take another step back.”

“We’re, like, eight feet apart! Claude, read the last paragraph of that letter!”

“Some forty year old with a CF fetish is setting Teeks up so he can, like, kidnap him and throw him in a lake or something,” Nolan explains, handing the letter over. Claude gives both of them a look.

“Doesn’t that kind of sound like he’s asking me out?” Travis asks. “That sounds like he wants me to go on a date with him. Those sound like date things.”

“You mean a date where he guts you and tries to wear your skin?” Nolan asks.

“We can’t let all three of you out like this, you know that, right?” Claude asks.

“Oh my God,” Travis moans, throwing his head back. “The two of you are actually the worst, you know that?” He pulls his letter from Claude’s hands and turns around, walking over to where Shayne is sitting behind the front desk. “Read the last paragraph.”

He takes the letter, reading over it before looking up at Travis. “Is Butter his dog?” Travis nods, and Shayne smiles. “That’s really cute.”

“It sounds like he’s asking me out, right? Like, out out. For a date. Or -- no, maybe he’s just trying to be nice.” Travis squints at the paper, reading over it again.

“Are you -- I mean. It doesn’t sound flirty, you know? It kind of sounds like he’s trying to flirt but doesn’t know if he’s doing it right.”

“Right,” Travis sighs. “So. Not a date.”

“Ask him!” Shayne says. “Ask him if he meant for it to be one. Those are pretty cute dates.”

Travis sighs through his nose, feeling kind of dumb for getting his hopes up for nothing. Now that he reads it over (and over, and over) he realizes Lawson is just extending a courtesy, not really asking him out.

“Okay,” Travis sighs. “I can’t breathe, so I’m gonna go back to my room.”

“You do that,” Shayne laughs. “And tell me what Lawson says!”

When he gets back in his room he gets his cannula back on and puts his letter into his box, then starts opening up the package. There are three things inside -- a penguin finger puppet, a book of constellations, and some… geometric kind of lamp.

He plugs it in, but the glow is kind of dim and underwhelming, so he flicks it back off and climbs into bed, under the covers. He can hear Provy in the doorway, telling him nothing changes by lying in bed but -- he let his mom get his hopes up, and he feels weirdly crushed with the realization that Lawson is probably just a dude with a good heart. He’ll write his response tomorrow when he feels a little better.

It’s the middle of the night when he feels his chest getting heavy, feels it grow harder and harder to suck in a proper breath. He reaches out, searching for his cannula with his eyes half-open in the dark. He touches something that feels like a switch and the room lights up with blue color. He squints, blinking and hands spreading out. He finally feels the tubing and lifts it to his face, slipping it behind his ears and looking around the room.

Littered across every surface are tiny blue specs. Some of them are joined by lines, and his jaw drops. A star lamp.

It makes the room gorgeous, and he lies back to take it in. Thousands of stars, right here in his hospital room in the middle of Philadelphia.

He pulls out his notebook and pen and starts writing Lawson back.

By the time the game comes around, he’s come to terms with the fact that this isn’t a date (that’s why he invited Pats and Hartsy, too). Carter is the one who comes with him ‘cause Nolan has to get some extra tests done but TK thinks it’s because he doesn’t wanna be all embarrassed when he realizes that Lawson is really who he says he is.

They get all their treatments done early and suit up, bundling up appropriately and getting their masks on for the trip over. It’s a hassle leaving since they have to take two separate elevators just to get downstairs together, but once they get on the bus they’re okay. Until they’re arriving at the arena and TK is trying to get their tickets together, and Carter steps away to take a call from Claude.

“Teeks!” He says, rushing back. “I got lungs. I’m getting lungs!”

“What?” Travis asks. “You -- right now?”

“Right now!” He laughs, and every part of him is screaming joy.

“What are you doing?! Go get a cab!”

“Okay!” Hartsy yells. “Go -- have fun, okay?! Go Yotes!”

“Go get your lungs!” Travis yells after him as Carter rushes out to the street, waving at him and smiling under his mask.

There are worse things than watching hockey alone, he decides. Lawson left him concessions tickets, so he gets a pretzel and sits up in his seat and watches the game. Lawson scores and gets an assist, and… maybe it’s selfish to think it’s because he’s there, watching, but he thinks it anyway.

He’d said in his last letter that he could hang out after the game, too, if he wanted, and they could say hi. Travis is nervous, though, as he waits near the visitor exit to the busses. Law’s teammates keep walking past him like they can’t tell if they should politely pass him or say hi, so TK just tries to stay out of the way.

He’s been there for twenty minutes when he realizes he could probably just leave and forget about it. Tell Lawson he was tired in his next response and call it a day. That way he wouldn’t have to sit out here and embarrass himself and Lawson wouldn’t feel obligated to hang out with him.

He runs a hand through his hair and turns to go when the door opens again. “Travis?” A voice asks, and TK turns around.

He’s a lot more handsome in person, he thinks, and Travis thought he was handsome in pictures. A lot bigger in person, too, and broader. “Hi,” he says.

Lawson lets out a laugh, smiling, and moves in to hug him. Travis is suddenly hit with the smell of warm skin and soap, and he really, really likes it. Lawson’s arms are big and warm they hold him close, tight. “What’s up, man, hi!”

It feels good.

“Hi,” he laughs again when Lawson lets him down. “Um. Good -- good job. You played really well.”

“Just doing my job,” Lawson laughs, and his smile seems so genuine like he’s really happy to see Travis out here. “Are -- where are your friends? Did you come alone?”

“I brought Carter, but he -- right as we were coming in Claude called him ‘cause he’s getting lungs. So. That’s really good and cool for him.”

“Yeah! That’s great! Here, walk with me,” he says, leading TK towards the bus. “Sorry I took so long, they all wanted to do media with me and I was trying to rush out here, so it was all just a little messy. Um -- do you need to get back to the hospital?”

“I’m…” he thinks about going back, then remembers what Provy always used to say about opportunity. How they’re not inexhaustible for people like them, so they had to take as many as they could while they could. “Free to hang out.”

“Cool! We can take it easy, right? Let me tell the guys to go on and we can find somewhere to get ice cream or something around here. Do you know the area?”

“Uh, a little,” Travis answers while Law runs up the bus steps and talks to them a second, then comes back down to join Travis.

“Do you mind if Chych takes a picture?” Lawson asks, and Travis shakes his head. “Cool, thanks. I like your scarf, by the way,” Lawson grins, then nods towards the street.

“Thanks,” Travis says, putting his gloved hands over it self consciously. “Hartsy’s mom made it for me.”

Travis pulls his bag open and takes out his polaroid, then winds up the film as Jakob comes down the stairs. “Can you --”

“Yeah, dude. Totally,” he nods, taking Law’s phone and Travis’ camera. One by one, he holds them up and takes a picture.

“Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Travis nods, and Jakob gives them a thumbs up.

“See you later, Sheriff.”

They end up at a place called Little Baby’s, ‘cause that's Nolan’s favorite ice cream place and the first one that comes to Travis’ mind when Lawson asks where they should go.

Talking to Lawson feels so natural. It’s second nature, and Travis really likes his smile, likes being the reason behind it. Lawson tells him about his trip over, and how Butter is doing, and about his family, and doesn’t seem to mind when Travis rambles on about nothing for a few minutes. He just grins ear to ear and nods at him to encourage him.

Lawson buys a pint at the store to bring back to the hospital for Nolan and then gets Travis a cab. “Are you -- do you have anything planned tomorrow?”

Travis shakes his head, takes a breath, and thinks of Ivan. “Not unless you wanted to…?”

“Yeah, totally. Sure, let's do it. Um. Lunch?”

“Tony Luke’s. At noon.”

Lawson grins and nods. “Okay. I’ll see you.”

He’s feeling queasy when he gets into bed that night. A good, weird queasy, like he’s swallowed a bunch of fishing bait.

“I think I changed my mind about this guy,” Nolan decides in the morning, eating straight out of the tub of Speculoos ice cream. “I trust him now.”

“You’re really not that hard to convince,” Travis responds.

“Don’t judge me,” Nolan scowls. “You met him and he took you out and bought me ice cream. That screams trustworthy.”

“You’re just hoping I bring you a cheesesteak,” Travis says back, checking the time on his phone. “Vest time. Enjoy eating all of that in one sitting.”

“Oh, count on it, bud.”

They get cheesesteaks for lunch, and Law insists on paying ‘cause he made Travis come all the way out here just to eat with him -- and then again, at the museum, he insists on paying.

He has a lot of fun. Getting lost in the museum -- they stop and go outside at sunset to watch the sky turn all sorts of colors in the middle of Logan Square.

TK pulls out his camera and takes a picture of Law’s back looking up at the sky all colors of pink and purple and orange.

“Look good?” Law asks, nodding to it.

Travis laughs as the picture develops. “Yeah, looks good.”

“Um -- excuse me. Can you get a picture of us?” Lawson asks, and Travis looks up to see him talking to a couple passing by.

Travis hands over his camera and they take another shot of the two of them. “It looks good,” Travis grins. “You should take one home. This one, or the one from yesterday.”

“Whichever one you like less,” he says. “And you can keep the other for your board.”

They head back inside to explore the rest of the museum, then finally make it up to the observatory and look through telescopes up at the stars and planets up above them, hundreds of millions of miles away.

At the end of the night, Travis invites him back to the hospital.

“I know it’s not, like. Where you probably wanna spend time, but.”

“No,” Lawson says. “Let's go.”

Carter is sleeping a lot ‘cause he’s in recovery still, so they don’t even try to see if he’s awake. But Nolan, on the other hand, if free game.

“I’m Lawson,” he introduces, and Nolan holds out a hand for him to shake.

“Nolan,” he says. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Lawson smiles easily, and Nolan gives him a curious look, and then one to TK before holding his phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, babe. I’m still here.”

He stays later than he should, really, but they get lost talking. TK explains all of the pictures up on his board, and he posts up the one of him and Lawson. They look over all of his magnets and Lawson thanks him for the London one. His posters, the Canadian hockey flag, his med cart, his stash of junk food, the lamp and the constellation book, the random piece of equipment that had been a perfect fit for his penguin finger puppet.

He calls an Uber at 3, and TK walks him down to wait for it together. “Thanks for, like. Hanging out with me all day,” Travis says while they hang out by the curb.

Lawson smiles at him, looking down at him, and leans in to kiss him.

It’s a really… interesting feeling, kissing someone. He doesn’t really know what he expected it to feel like, other than ‘not like this.’ Not bad interesting, good interesting. Like, very good, wrap my arms around your neck interesting kind of interesting.

“You kissed me,” Travis says, pulling away suddenly.

“Oh,” Lawson replies. “Um, yeah. Sorry if I… I was getting, like. Hints. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Was today a date?” He asks, sounding horrified.

“It doesn’t have to be if you didn’t want it to be. I had a lot of fun with you today, kissing or not, so I just -- it felt like the right thing to do.” It’s cold out, and he can’t tell if Lawson is just blushing, or if he’s

Travis puts a hand in his hair. “We could have been kissing all day,” he says. “We could have… we could have been kissing all day.”

“Travis?”

“Go. Lets -- let's go again before your Uber gets here,” he says, lifting his arms to fit around Lawson’s neck, and Law slots right into him, picking him up to kiss him on the curb of the hospital. Law’s hair is too short for Travis to get his fingers into, but he has broad shoulders to hang off of while Law pushes his hair back and holds him close. Their noses are cold and bump a little but Travis is understanding the hype on this whole kissing thing.

They’re torn out of their trance by the gentle honk of a car horn, and Lawson turns as Travis looks over his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Travis mutters.

“I’ll talk to you. Tomorrow. I mean -- later today,” Lawson promises as he sets TK down.

“Okay,” Travis smiles, and Lawson kisses him again one more time, hard and on the mouth.

He can’t stop smiling. Not even as Lawson’s Uber pulls away and he’s left on the curb, waving at him through the window. Not even as he heads back upstairs and puts his head in his hands in the elevator, because he can’t really believe that just happened. Not even as he gets back in bed and flicks on his star light, touching his lips gently because there’s no way that just happened. No way Lawson really just kissed him after taking him on a date. He’s dreaming.

He hits his call button, and a minute later Claude raps on his door. “Everything okay?”

“Pinch me,” Travis says, lifting his arm.

Claude grins. “Date went well, then?” He asks while walking over and following his orders.

“Ow!” Travis hisses, pulling away. “He -- Claude. He kissed me!”

Claude nods. “I was trying not to notice all the laughing coming from here so that I wouldn’t have to kick him out, but. Good. If you trust him, I’m sure he’s a good guy.”

Travis nods. “He is. Like, he really is. He’s so kind and thoughtful. I just -- like. This completely blindsided me.”

Claude laughs. “Why?”

“I didn’t think he, like. I didn’t think he liked me, especially not like that!”

“Teeks, kid, I think you’re about the only person who didn’t know he was into you.”

Travis throws his head back against his pillow and huffs.

“I like your light,” Claude says, tapping it.

“Thanks. Lawson got it for me,” Travis says, looking back to Claude, who had a smug grin on his face. “Shut up,” he laughs. “Go do your job.”

“I am doing my job!” Claude responds, heading for the door. “Congrats on getting with the program.”

> Law,  
  
It’s almost 4 am, and I’m gonna be an absolute monster tomorrow when I’m trying to sleep in and Shayne and Claude have to wake me up for treatments. And this is probably going to screw my sleep schedule for the rest of the week, but whatever. It’s not like I need a strict one, anyway. Anyway, my point is: it’s your fault.  
  
I’m reeling. Like, I don’t know any other way to describe this feeling other than reeling. Last night I felt like I’d been eating fishing bait and all the worms were crawling around in my stomach, but, like. In a happy way. And I’m also gonna have chapped lips tomorrow because I keep touching and licking mine and that’s your fault, too!  
  
  
Apparently, I’m the only one who didn’t know you were going to kiss me. Even Claude is saying he knew, but I’m pretty sure I’m still dreaming (though Claude pinched me, and it hurt, so) about the past two days.  
  
I have so much to say (I always do) but I have no idea how to say it (which is new-ish for me). I should probably start out with thank you for, like. You know, kissing me. But also taking me out on a date and bringing me to your game. (Carter is making good recovery progress if you’re wondering.) I thought you were just being a nice guy, you know? And you were. But, honestly, when I was with you, it didn’t even seem like you were trying to be nice. It all just came so easily for you.  
  
The past few months that we’ve been writing, I didn’t… well. Maybe I did know how much I’d grown attached to you, but I didn’t realize at what extent. You’ve made me laugh, cry, cheer, and feel so happy just by reading your letters. It might not seem like much but usually getting your letter and getting to read what you had to say, it made my week. I’m a pretty happy guy, you know? I try not to let my illness limit me, but you’ve shown me a new side of myself, one that I really love.  
  
Maybe I’m going too far, saying that I’m falling for you. But I think I am. You know I’ve never been in love or anything like that before, but if the movies got the whole feeling in love thing right, I think I’m doing that right now. I’m all giddy and I can’t sit still and I can’t stop smiling and my chest is all warm like I chugged a cocoa.  
  
I had so much fun today. You really made it special, you know? And I know I wasn’t being the most… astute, but thank you for being patient, and waiting it out with me. I took our picture down off the wall but it’s in one of the frames next to my bed now, so don’t worry. It’s still with me. I just want it to be, like. Next to my bed. Sometimes I kind of have to reach with my neck to see the board, so I want the picture of us to be on full display and everything.  
  
I’m so happy right now, Law. I’m really happy.  
  
You’re the best.  
  
♡  
  
Travis.  
(215) 336-3600.

That night, again, he dreams of the endless road, and the sun warming his skin as they drive for miles.

He gets a text a few days later.

Hi (:

Is this Lawson?

Yeah (:

He sends a picture of Butter after.

Just in case you think I’m a catfish this time (:

TK hates to say it, but he turns into Nolan. His phone is glued to his hand now, at all times. Absolutely can’t leave it alone, because what if Lawson texts, or calls him, or wants to FaceTime?

His family appreciates it, too. He’d been kind of notorious for leaving his phone in random places and hearing, “Travis Konecny, your phone is on the fourth-floor desk, please come collect it,” over the loudspeaker when his mom thought he was dead after he didn’t respond to her calls or texts for 16 hours.

He FaceTimes Lawson for everything. When he’s doing treatments, when he’s eating, before he goes to bed, even tries when he’s showering.

“You’re literally worse than Nolan,” Shayne laughs one day when he comes in to see Travis in his vest with his phone outstretched in front of him.

So maybe he is. A little.

Law keeps promising to come see him, too, once his season is over.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Travis says, trying to act like his heart isn’t skipping a beat at the thought.

“How many times do I have to tell you I mean it?” Lawson laughs in response.

Most nights that they can manage it, Travis falls asleep with Lawson on the phone. Claude or Shayne will come in, say goodbye if Lawson is still on the line, then hang up and plug his phone in for the next day. They’re good guys like that.

When the Yotes’ season ends in April, Lawson documents his travels with Butter back to Ontario. He stays home for two weeks, then leaves Butter with his parents to come down to Philly.

He begs and begs Claude to let him pick Lawson up from the airport, but Ryanne isn’t optimistic with a strain of the flu going around. Instead, she picks up some flowers and gives them to Travis to give to him when he arrives.

Law is staying at an Airbnb nearby the hospital, close enough to walk. And sure enough, Travis sits at his window, looking out onto the street, waiting to catch a glimpse of his -- Lawson before he came inside. He climbs off his bed, pulling his cannula off and heading out into the hall to stand six feet away from the elevator, just in case.

When the doors slide open and it’s Lawson, there, in the actual flesh, close enough for Travis to touch and hold, he huffs out a loud laugh -- one that grabs Lawson’s attention, and then the both of them are smiling like idiots.

They both move to hug, but Lawson stops and lets Travis come to him, lifting him up in a hug easily. “You’re here,” he laughs into Lawson’s neck. “You’re really here.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Lawson laughs against his neck. “Missed you.”

“Missed you more,” he promises, pulling back just enough for Travis to get hands on his cheeks and kiss him.

“No PDA!” Claude calls from the front desk, but Travis only pulls away long enough to take another breath.

“I’m serious!” Claude says again, and Lawson guides Travis to lock his ankles around his waist.

“Guys,” Claude says in his dad voice, the one he uses when he finds out you’ve forgotten a step in your program, or catches you sneaking out.

“Okay, let’s -- come, let’s go into my room,” Travis laughs, and Lawson carries him in and sets him gently on the bed, but follows him right down.

Travis is so happy he thinks he could cry, really, lying there with Lawson’s face pressed against his neck, arms around his broad shoulders. It feels perfect.

Travis gives him a proper tour of the hospital after he takes his pills. Lawson gets to meet Carter and says hi to Nolan, and he gets to meet Claude and Shayne properly. Everyone does their part to embarrass Travis as they please, and Travis flushes and tries to hide behind Lawson’s arm. They hold hands while Travis shows him where the baby window is, and where he and Provy would sit and watch them. He shows him the cafeteria, and the roof and the little garden. Around lunchtime Travis has a physical, so he has to head back to his room to eat and wait for Ryanne.

Law sits and watches as Travis breathes into various pieces of equipment, testing this and that and the other thing. She seems pleased, for the most part, with what she’s finding until she starts pressing at his torso.

“Lift up your shirt for me, Teeks,” she says, and he angles himself away from where Lawson is sitting and pulls up his shirt a little. “Oh,” she scowls, and Travis swallows.

“Am I fine?” Travis asks quietly when she taps his hand gently to let him know he can drop his shirt.

“We might be seeing an infection around your gastric port, so I’m gonna prepare some steroids for you to see if we can’t stop it where it is,” she responds quietly, nodding.

Travis isn’t, like, crazy about the idea, but he’s also not crazy about the idea of having to go into surgery to replace his feeding port.

“And I want you to do an extra half hour on the vest today, please,” she continues, “no buts.”

“Can I go out on Wednesday?” He asks. “Claude said I had to ask you.”

“We’ll see how you are tomorrow, okay?”

Travis bites his lip and nods.

“I’ll have someone come in in a minute, Teeks.”

He nods and settles back into bed. “Phys ex,” he huffs. “All day, every day.”

“You’re alright though, right?” Law asks.

Travis shrugs. “Kind of cycles. You basically heal long enough that the next time you get checked out something else is wrong.”

Lawson hangs around some more after Claude comes in to administer the shot, and then again an hour later when he reminds TK he needs to get his vest on.

“You can go if you want. And, like. Explore Philly or whatever. This is pretty gross, so, it’s chill if you don’t want to hang around,” Travis promises while he grabs his vest from under his hospital bed.

“I’m fine staying,” Lawson responds.

“Really,” Travis says. “Like, it’s gross. I won’t be upset.”

“Travis, it’s cool,” he promises. “I didn’t come here to be grossed out by you trying to live.”

Travis blushes, but he doesn’t really know why, so he just focuses on getting his vest hooked up. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

“Just turn it on,” Lawson laughs while Travis fastens his clips. He pulls over a plastic bowl, making sure it’s within arms reach if he needs it. He starts a timer on his phone and turns it on.

They sit and watch some of the Phillies game while Travis finishes his treatment. Every few minutes he reaches over, yanking his bowl over to spit up phlegm and mucus that’s being pulled away from the walls of his lungs.

“Really cute, I know,” he says, making a disgusted face after the first time Lawson watches him do it.

“You sound like a robot,” Law laughs in response.

It’s a relaxed night. Lawson does leave, just for a while to go get them cheesesteaks for dinner ‘because it’s a tradition now, Travis,’ and because he’s a really good guy, he brings ones back for everyone else, too, then gets into bed while they watch a movie.

“You should go sleep in your own bed,” Travis says, cozy under a quilt with his head on Lawson’s chest. “I might keep you up if you sleep here, I cough a lot.”

“You sound tired,” Lawson responds, petting his hair lightly.

“I had an exciting day,” Travis says. “My boyfriend came to town.”

“Your boyfriend?” Law asks, amused, and Travis reaches out, searching for Lawson’s free hand which

“Mhm,” he agrees.

“Go to bed, Teeks,” Lawson whispers, kissing his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He does. He wakes up being held, properly held, by Lawson in bed. It feels peaceful and safe, and usually, TK is pretty restless. He needs to get up and get going as soon as he wakes up, but now… right in this moment, where he can see the last of the night sky on the horizon and Law is big and warm wrapped around him, he’s just going to enjoy right now.

Law heads to his room to shower and change for the day, and once Travis watches the elevator doors close in front of him, he pulls up his shirt and groans. “Shayne, can you get Ryanne?” He calls, then goes into his bathroom and pulls his shirt off. Thick, sticky white pus is gathering around his feeding port, and it fucking itches like crazy.

“Travis?” Ryanne calls then spots him in his bathroom and turns. Travis shows her, and she makes a sound. “Okay,” she nods. “It’s okay. I’m gonna schedule you for surgery later to fix that. Is it painful?” She asks, feeling the skin around it gently with her hands.

“It itches like fuck,” he responds.

“Okay. I’ll get you something that’ll hopefully take care of that and some ice. In the meantime, don’t touch it. If you need a shirt, keep it light. Claude!” She calls, turning out of the room and heading back to the front desk.

Travis gets back into bed, scowling at the discomfort and taking a deep breath. More than anything, he feels guilty. Guilty that Lawson came all the way out here and he’s sick not even twenty-four hours in. Maybe they should have never met, he thinks. That way he could keep omitting the things like this and his vest and how he hates going out in public sometimes because of how he hates being stared at when he has a coughing fit.

It’s gross. He knows it’s gross, that he’s gross. It just feels overwhelming, like it’s all crashing over him. He never should have gone to the game, and he never should have gone out with him, and he never should have let Lawson kiss him because this is just a mess. He’s been misleading Lawson this whole time.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until Nolan is in the doorway. He has his mask on, and he’s more than six feet away, so he figures Claude won’t yell at them. He lifts a thumbs up, and Travis shuts his eyes. “Surgery,” he says. “Infected port.”

Nolan rests his head on the doorway, “You know, he knows you’re sick.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be sick in front of him.”

“Little late for that,” Nolan says helpfully. “He’s a good guy.”

“I know that. He just -- he came to see me and my fucking body can’t keep it together just long enough for us to enjoy, like. Being together.”

“You should trust him.”

“That’s easy for you to say. When you met Nico, it’s not -- you were getting treatment. He knew how sick you were. I don’t want him to leave if he realizes I’m too much work.”

“Have a little faith, Teeks. Don’t decide on stuff without him. You’re good for him,” Nolan nods, and TK wipes away his tears.

“I brought breakfa -- Teeks,” Lawson says ten minutes later, his tone dropping to sympathy when he sees Travis’ red eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he promises, then sniffles. “I, um. I have to get surgery later today ‘cause my feeding port is infected.”

“Oh,” Lawson says. “Are you -- I mean, is it risky?”

Travis shakes his head, and Lawson slowly walks back to his chair and puts the bag of food down. “No, Ryanne does them all the time. Open systems are iffy.”

“So… I shouldn’t worry?”

Travis shakes his head, and Lawson lets out a breath of relief. “I didn’t know what to get you for breakfast, so I have bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel or ham, egg, and cheese on an English muffin.”

Travis laughs at that, then wipes his cheeks again. “Bagel, please.”

Claude comes by when they’re finishing eating to give him some cream that’s meant to help the itching and a cold press.

“Claude?” Lawson asks as he’s leaving. “Is there, uh. Like, anything I can do to help?”

The question makes Claude smile, and he nods to TK. “Keep him quiet and out of my hair,” he grins, then winks at Travis, who tells him to shut up.

They stay relaxed for the rest of the day. Lawson is his personal body pillow and water boy, and movie decider when whatever they last watched runs out. Around early afternoon, Shayne brings a surgery gown in for him to change into while they get him ready to go. They bring another bed and some more equipment in, too, including a pulse oximeter. They put his hair in a net and give him a mask and everything, and Shayne asks Lawson to ‘gown up’ if he’s going to be in the room any longer. He listens, then continues to keep Travis company.

“Are you nervous?” He asks.

Travis nods. “I kinda hate surgery.”

Lawson agrees, nodding right back at him, “It’s kind of intimidating. I’d have thought you were used to this by now.”

Travis shrugs, “The last time I had surgery Provy was alive. And he was really good at calming me down.”

“Guess you’ll have to be stuck with me for now,” Lawson smiles behind his mask.

“Ew,” Travis responds playfully. “Gross.”

Lawson laughs, then looks around the room. He seems to spot something because he steps away, though he’s at too steep an angle for Travis to see what he’s doing. He turns back around with the penguin finger puppet on his hand. “How’s this for calming?”

“Looking at you with your finger jammed into a penguin? Oh, yeah. Really calming.”

Lawson hums and grins. “Just… if all else fails… think about how you’re glad that you’re not a prehistoric penguin.”

“I’m glad I’m not a penguin,” Travis nods. “Any kind of penguin.”

Law reaches over, having the little toy peck at Travis’ face and making a funny voice while he did -- and as far as first times go, Law does a pretty great job calming him down. “He and I will both be waiting right here when you wake up,” Lawson promises. “You’re gonna get through it!”

Spoiler, he does. It’s an easy, successful surgery, and Ryanne has him back in his bed sleeping soundly away with Law by his side. Claude warns him that Travis will be drowsy for a little while when he’s waking up, but just to encourage him to drink water and stay in bed.

By the time they bring dinner around, TK is slowly waking up. Lawson cuts his food into little pieces and helps him eat, following bites with water and juice. Claude tells him good job when he comes by to pick up the plate -- Travis doesn’t usually eat that much.

Travis continues to wake up, and by nine or so he’s feeling awake as normal and all but demands Lawson come cuddle with him while he recovers. He calls his mom, too, just to update her on the whole surgery thing. Law is expecting it to make him feel good, getting to talk to his family, but when he hangs up the phone Travis turns into Lawson’s chest and curls a hand into his shirt.

Lawson reaches around him and rubs at his back, then leans and kisses his head. He wants to say something but stays quiet, suspecting Travis will talk himself when he’s ready. And he does.

“Sometimes I feel like I just… cost them money and give them bad news.”

“Hey,” Lawson says, and Travis can hear his pout. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Travis responds. “I don’t -- I don’t mean to do it, you know? I just -- every time I think I’m doing well and program is going good something happens and I --” he swallows thickly and pushes his hand into his sleeve to wipe his frustration tears from his face, but Lawson beats him to it, gently wiping his face clear and punctuating it with a kiss to his head. “It’s like I get better from one thing just to get sick again. And I know that… I’m sick, that’s how it is. I just want a fucking week where I can call her and tell her something isn’t wrong with me and that I’m fine. Even when I went home, I was dealing with shit and.” He shakes his head, “It isn’t fair. And I know stupid fucking life isn’t supposed to be fair, but just. Be unfair to me, you know? They don’t deserve this.”

Lawson just holds him a moment, wiping tears and keeping his lips pressed against Travis’ head. “As someone who’s here by choice,” he pets Travis’ hair gently. “I know they don’t think of you like that. And that you’re a blessing, you know? Teeks, I bet they’re so proud of you.”

Travis curls further into Lawson’s chest, and Lawson holds him tighter.

“They know you’re fighting every day, yeah? They know this isn’t easy for you. They know this isn’t your choice, and that you could have given up. They know you’re trying for them.”

“Sometimes -- God. I’m so scared I’m gonna die and have lived… like my life didn’t matter, you know? I’ll die and they won’t be proud of how I lived. Sometimes I wish I could just get it over with, you know? That way they can stop working, and start saving to retire and give my brother something. I’m so scared of letting them down. They give me everything and I can’t go a week without getting sicker. They don’t need to just… keep throwing money at someone who isn’t worth it all.”

“Don’t say that,” Lawson says. “Don’t. You are worth every last penny they’ve spent on you. I’m sure they’d spend every dollar in existence, if they could, just to keep you around a little longer. They love you, Teeks.”

Travis shakes his head. “My whole life is in this room. All of my friends are in this ward. After I go, this room will have someone new in it. My whole life is in this fucking -- three hundred square feet. Some days I don’t even feel like I’m living, you know? I’m just waiting to die. And… I don’t act like I’m scared. I was, like, seven weeks old when I got diagnosed. So this has just always been life for me. And I don’t think I’ve ever… processed how scary this all is. And how scared I am to die.”

“Lots of people with CF live to be, you know. In their thirties.”

For whatever reason, that makes his chest bloom with heat. That Lawson knows that because maybe he looked it up. Because maybe he thinks they’ll make it that long.

Travis doesn’t cry a lot, but for a while that night, he lets Lawson hold him and wipe his tears.

“We’re gonna make tomorrow better than today, okay?”

Travis wakes up twice that night in fits of coughs. It’s not cute, and it’s loud and disgusting. He can feel Lawson waking up beside him, and he tries to apologize but he’s also trying not to choke on mucus.

Lawson sits up, rubbing Travis’ back while he hacks up half his lung. “Here,” he whispers, voice gravelly and sleepy as he offers Travis his water bottle. Travis sucks in a breath, then takes a big drink followed by several breaths. “You okay?” Law asks gently, and Travis nods. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Travis’ temple. “Come on, back to bed. You’re a good cuddler.”

He knows coughing up mucus isn’t romantic, but in his own way, what Lawson just did there -- that was.

The next day is more of the same. Lawson leaves in the morning to change and whatnot, and then comes back with breakfast. He’s not supposed to move much today, given that he’s healing, so in addition to breakfast, Lawson brings back a deck of cards and Uno.

They watch the rest of their movie over breakfast burritos, and then Ryanne comes in to check on Travis’ port.

“Looks much better,” she nods. “And it’s healing really nicely. I’m gonna check on it again tomorrow and if they’re still good, I’ll consider letting you go out the next day.”

Travis holds his hand up for a high five, and she smiles before bumping her latex-covered hand against his. “You’re the best. Unless you don’t let me go, and then Claude is the best.”

She gives him an annoyed but fond look, then looks to Lawson. “You’re a saint,” she compliments, and he laughs. “You’re good enough to hook that up again today. You look skinny,” she says to Travis.

“You look skinny,” he hurls back like an insult, and Ryanne pulls her gloves off and tosses them in the trash.

“Oh, Travis, you wound me,” she pouts, then flashes them a smile as she heads out into the lobby.

They play a lot of Uno, and war, and speed, and basically every card game they can think of. Lawson even tries to teach him Mao but Travis is hopeless and he nearly pisses himself laughing.

(They also spend a good while kissing -- which coincidentally happen to be during both times Claude comes in to check on him.)

He still has his treatments. He’s still popping enzymes left and right and has to spend half an hour twice a day vibrating as he hacks up mucus, but Law helps the time pass. The first half-hour, he pulls Travis’ laptop over and sets up photo booth backgrounds, then poses with him while they wait for his timer to go off, pretending to be underwater or on the moon or on a rollercoaster. Then for the second one, they spend a good hour laughing about how Travis is a human-sized vibrator for an hour a day.

“It looks really good,” Ryanne nods the next day, fingers gently pressing around the few stitches he had from the surgery.

“Can we go out tomorrow?” Travis asks.

She bites her lips together, “Subject to change -- yes. For now, you can go out tomorrow.”

Travis yanks her into a hug, then turns around and high fives Lawson with both hands, and then wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him.

“Hey,” Ryanne says, “come on. At least wait until I’m out of the room.”

“You’re the best,” Travis says, turning around. “The actual best. Claude is not the best, because you’re the best.”

She laughs, pulling her gloves off. “Behave today so I can clear you for tomorrow,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

They try Mao again that day, but it goes arguably worse than the day before, and try to pick what they’re going to do the next day.

“I have to go to physio later,” Travis says. “You can come with. It’s kind of boring, though, I just walk on a treadmill.” As if him sitting in bed isn’t the equivalent of watching paint dry.

“Oh, is it a proper gym?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Can I work out with you?”

Travis almost dismisses it, saying it’ll be boring, but then thinks up the possibility of Law all hot and sweaty and nods. “Yeah, totally.”

That’s their afternoon activity. Travis walks along on his treadmill while watching Lawson do push-ups and pull-ups and sit-ups and all the other ups there are. It’s -- a lot, okay, for Travis’ dick.

nolpats (now)  
ur drooling  
ur jealous  
surely not

He turns to where Nolan is on the stationary bike and flips him off, then goes back to enjoying the view of Lawson’s shirt sticking to his abs.

When they’re finished, Lawson leaves again to go shower and change “and I’ll get you dinner!” while Travis showers in his own room -- and rubs one out because he was pretty sexually frustrated. He just wanted to bone his boyfriend, sue him.

He changes into some comfy clothes, then cuddles back up in bed to wait for him. Surely enough, it’s pizza and sweets this time.

“Hold on,” he says, sliding the top box, stacked with bags of sweets, off onto the table, “I brought some for everyone else, too, so I’m gonna go offer it.” He heads back into the lobby with the two other boxes, and Travis grins while he slides the sweets off the top and pops it open, grabbing a slice.

“Let's do a romantic movie night,” Lawson pleads, “it’ll be cute.”

“Romance movies suck,” Travis responds between bites of pizza. “It’s all, like. Crap the chocolate corporations want you to believe so you spend more money.”

“We’re gonna watch Love, Actually,” Lawson says, messing with the clicker.

This time when he watches it -- he kind of gets it.

Law spends his last day with Travis down at Blue Cross Summerfest. It’s cheesy -- and basically everything Travis could have dreamed of. They roller skate and play games and Lawson spends thirty dollars winning Travis a stuffed toad. Lunch is fried food and then a round of mini-golf, and they hang out at the edge of the water while they watch the sunset.

“I have one more place I wanna take you,” he says, “before we go back to the hospital.”

Lawson finds them a motored scooter, then tucks Travis in front of him while he zips them down the street to Spruce Street.

When they get off, they’re under a huge canopy of trees. People are sitting, eating, performing, even lounging in rainbow hammocks. There are long multicolored lights hanging off the branches of them, casting the park in colored lights alongside tiny white bulbs.

“This is pretty,” Travis nods, unable to keep his smile off his face.

“Give me this,” Law says and pulls Travis’ bag off his shoulder, then onto his. “Come here.”

He pulls Travis right into his chest, slipping one hand around his waist and hanging onto his hand with the other. Slowly, he starts to sway.

“Oh my God,” Travis laughs through his particle mask, putting his head on Lawson’s chest. “No, we’re not doing this. No way in fuck, this is so embarrassing! We’re in public!”

“No, we’re doing this. It’s romantic,” Lawson replies, angling his head to look down at him.

Travis smiles back up at him. It’s kind of embarrassing, doing this, but he’s… he’s fucking happy. “You look fond.”

Lawson nods. “I am fond.”

They do it all -- Lawson twirls him and then dips him, and when the string artists performing finish their song, he unhooks the mask from one of Travis’ ears and kisses him right on the lips.

He keeps Travis’ bag on his shoulder, letting him walk hand in hand without his concentrator weighing him down.

“This night was perfect,” he smiles, looking down at the brick path while they head back to the Uber pickup point. “I feel so lucky when I’m with you.”

He cries into Lawson’s shoulder in bed that night, begging him not to go. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” he sobs. “I love having you here.”

Lawson uses a big hand to push Travis’ hair back. “I’m so much closer now, baby. I’m gonna come see you again, yeah?”

“Please don’t leave,” he hiccups. “Please.”

Lawson kisses his head and pulls him in to rest on his shoulder. “I’m gonna get up extra early so I can go back to my place and get my stuff, and then I’ll come back here so I can say goodbye.”

Travis knows it’s selfish to beg him to stay, but he hasn’t felt this good in months. He falls asleep on Lawson’s chest, his hand over Law’s heart.

He’s sleepy in the morning when Lawson comes in to wake him up. He’s wheeling his bag down to the driveway so he can say goodbye, hand in hand again. He’s cozy, still in his pajamas as he goes up on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Lawson’s neck to hug him goodbye.

“Keep that chair open for me,” Law says, pushing his hair back and leaning in to kiss him. “I’m gonna be back here before you know it.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Travis says, trying not to cry for the millionth time this week.

“You’re gonna have me, right here,” he puts his hand over Travis’ heart, “You know I’m always thinking of you, Teeks.”

He waves goodbye to Law in that same spot that he did the first time, late at night all those weeks ago. Then, he basically gives up on the day before it starts.

He drags his feet back to his room, shuffling in and switching his cannula over to his big condenser because he’s resigned to staying in his room all night. It’s only when he looks at his bed, does he see anything different.

It’s folded neatly, with a magnet reading ‘PHILADELPHIA’ across the top of it. He lets out a breath -- even leaving him, he knows just what to do.

“I don’t deserve you,” Travis mutters to himself, running his fingers over the magnet, then walking over to the window and placing it among the others. He turns back to the bed and holds up the sweater and only after seeing the sheer size of the Team Canada jumper does he realize Lawson didn’t buy this for him. He pulls his cannula off, then his own sweater and pulls on the red one.

He flicks his bathroom lights on, opening the door so he can back up and see the way it dips down to his thighs, how the sleeves fall well past his fingertips, how the thing just swallows him up. He’s grinning, too, like an idiot as he swings his arms back and forth, then wraps them around himself, then pulls the hood up. He laughs out loud to himself, then spins around in it and hugs himself again.

He’s been wrong before, after all.

Needless to say, Travis pretty much lives in that sweater until the next time Lawson comes.

He dreams twice about the endless road before the next time Lawson comes.

He’s surprisingly healthy next time Lawson comes around, or at least as healthy as he can get. It’s a lot of the same -- Ryanne approves a few dates, and the rest of the time they spend tucked in bed together, watching movies or playing games or making out. They make out a lot.

There’s one day after Ryanne has run her tests monitoring Travis’ lung capacity, that Law follows her out into the hall and shuts the door behind him. Realistically it shouldn’t worry him. He trusts Lawson with his life, his boyfriend should be able to talk to his doctor privately for a moment. Still, he’s nervous while sitting on the edge of his bed.

“What was that?” He asks when Law comes back in.

Lawson shakes his head. “Just checking on something for later. I’ve gotta bounce, okay? But I’ll see you in, like. Half an hour.”

“Where are you going?” Travis asks, audibly worried.

In response, Lawson laughs, kisses his head, and grabs his wallet. “Trust me, baby. I’ll see you, okay? Just do your vest stuff and by the time it’s done, I’ll be back.”

Travis pouts but does it anyway. Sure enough, as he’s folding his vest back up to stuff underneath his bed, he spots Lawson heading back to his room.

“What’d you do?” He asks once he’s back in the room. He has a brown paper bag in his hand that he quickly tucks beneath the table.

“Nothing,” Law says. “It’s for later.”

“What’s in that bag?”

“A surprise. What do you have left, like, treatment wise today? Just food?” He asks, and Travis nods though he’s still pouting.

“Claudes supposed to bring it in in, like, an hour.”

“Okay, yeah. Cool. Scoot. We can keep watching The Bachelor.”

Sure enough, an hour later, Claude rolls a bag of formula on and hands Travis the end of the port for him to plug in. He knows Lawson knows about the port and knows why he needs it, obviously, but he’s still weird about him seeing it. He always turns away or keeps his shirt pulled over it when he can help it. Lawson never really says anything about it.

His pump beeps when it’s finished, and Travis sits up, pulling the cord free and coiling it up to hang, then presses the call button to let Claude know he’s finished.

“You’re good?” Claude checks as he’s headed out.

“Yeah. I think we’re just -- gonna cuddle and fall asleep. Can you get the door.”

Claude nods. “Yell if you need us or anything.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

Law waits another twenty minutes before nudging Travis’ head with his jaw. “You wanna see your surprise?”

Travis doesn’t even pretend to be subtle. “Yes,” he says quickly, pulling a bubbly laugh out of

Law sits up, bending over to grab the paper bag from beneath the table. He pulls out a massive rice krispie treat, wrapped in plastic wrap.

He doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, but, “Is that just… I could have gotten that from the vending machine.”

Law laughs, pulling the table over and taking out the plastic knife he nabbed from the cafeteria. He unwraps the treat and begins cutting it in half. “I asked Ryanne about medical marijuana earlier,” he admits. “And she said it was fine.”

“Is this a fucking edible?” Travis laughs, and Law giggles back, nodding. Travis reaches for half and takes a bite.

“You’re crazy,” Lawson says, snatching it back. “I’m trying to portion it!”

“Was that a lot? It’s good,” Travis says, chewing away.

“Here,” he finally says, sliding over a chunk for Travis to finish, which he does.

“You’d think they’d make it taste less good,” Travis says, wiping his fingers on his sheets. “So people wouldn’t eat way too much.”

“Then you wouldn’t want to eat it,” Lawson says, then licks his own fingers clean. “You’re so cute.” He moves in, pecking Travis lightly before standing up and pushing the table away. “I’m gonna go fill up your water bottle for when you get cotton mouth.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Travis grins, stretching in his bed. “How long does this take to kick in?”

“An hour or so,” Law shrugs. “I’ll be right back.”

He makes true on his word, coming back with his water bottle filled and ready to treat his cotton mouth. It never feels like it’s coming, though, so while Lawson is in the bathroom Travis reaches over and cuts off another chunk for himself.

It takes maybe a minute for the sink to turn off and the door to open, and Lawson looks right at him and smiles. “You are so high.”

“No,” Travis insists, but his cheeks are stretched into a smile he can’t help. “I don’t even feel it.” He tries to reel his smile in by holding a straight face, but each time he tries he splits back into a giggly smile. Lawson, too, is laughing, holding on to the doorframe to keep him up as they giggle back and forth.

Travis has to stop for a moment to hack up some phlegm, but even as he grabs a clean bowl off the desk and spits into it, it’s like the funniest thing he’s ever done. Lawson makes it back over to the bed, resting his head on Travis’s shoulder and rubbing his back as they both giggle.

“What the fuck,” Travis says, then coughs up some more mucus. He usually hates this, he thinks it’s kind of gross and ugly and hates the burning he gets coughing his throat raw. Right now, though, he feels warm and happy and like he’s light as a feather. He gets over his coughing fit but he’s still laughing, holding the bowl as he lies against his bed.

“Oh my God,” Lawson says, face flushed from the giggles, “give me that, you’re going to spill it.” He takes the bowl and pushes it onto the table, and as soon as he does, TK is pulling him into bed by his arm.

“This was a really good idea,” he compliments, smile wide. “I’m having so much fun.”

“You’re so baked,” Lawson laughs, “you look so cute.”

“We should kiss,” Travis nods, and Lawson nods back at him.

“Okay!”

Lawson gets his hands on either of Travis’s cheeks and pulls him in, kissing him deeply. It’s only nice for about a minute when the cottonmouth kicks in and has Law pulling away to grab some gum. He holds a piece out for TK, who keeps his mouth open and leans in towards the hand. Somewhere along the way, one of them loses track and they miss horribly.

Law snorts out a laugh and tries again but Travis moves again, and for a minute they sit there just trying to get this piece of gum into Travis’ mouth. Over and over until Travis has the mind to grab Lawson’s forearm and hold it still. He guides it into his mouth, laughing as he does, then closes his lips and pulls Lawson’s hand away.

“I like your lips,” Lawson says, chewing on his gum.

“I like your everything,” Travis says back. “I’m,” he shakes his head. “I’m so happy that I have you.”

Lawson giggles back at him. “You’re so flattering.”

“Can we kiss again?”

“Yes,” Law nods, “let's kiss.”

“Wait,” Travis says. “Can I, um. Can I give you a hickey?”

Lawson looks at him, grinning. “Yeah. Where?”

“Just,” Travis shakes his head, “on your neck.”

“Oh,” Lawson says, then bites his lip and nods.

Travis fits right against him, then finds a little patch of skin and sucks on it. He worries it a little with his teeth, trying to get it nice and red without actually knowing exactly how to give a hickey. He only decides he’s done when he’s giggling too hard to keep the suction anymore.

“I get to give you one now,” Law says, and Travis grins at him.

“Okay,” and then he tips his head back, giving Law all the space he could need. He lifts a hand to scratch his Adam's apple and Lawson grabs it, pinning it to the bed so he can reach that patch of skin. He licks at Travis’ neck and hums.

“You’re salty.”

“Quit it,” Travis snickers as he wiggles his hand and Lawson lifts his own. “You’re making me hard.”

Lawson laughs at that, pulling away. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Travis says slowly, and he drags his hand up Lawson’s torso until Lawson catches his hand as it moves over his pec. Travis licks his lip a little, then blinks slowly.

“We can’t have sex right now,” Lawson says. Travis doesn’t respond, but his smile dims a little. “Later,” Lawson promises. “When we’re sober.”

Travis nods. “Okay.”

“I think you’re so sexy,” he continues. “You’re fucking stunning. I just want you to remember everything. No fuzziness.”

Lawson tucks his face back into TK’s neck to give him more lovebites while TK tries to process that. His mom has called him handsome and Ryanne has said he’s ‘good looking’ but he’s never -- no ones ever called him sexy, or anything like that, certainly not from someone who viewed him romantically (but then again, Lawson is the only one who has done that, too).

They eventually pass out like that. Travis with his head lolled back and Lawson half on him, breathing hotly against his neck.

Ryanne comes in like she does every day to check on them, and she doesn’t ask how it all went, but she has a look like she knows.

“I coughed up, like, a good pound and a half of mucus.”

She grins. “Good! That’s good.”

“I’ve decided to give up my vest and just -- consume a lot of THC instead.”

“I don’t know about that,” she laughs. “Also, not your decision. But your heart sounds good, and your O2 levels are really good today. Anything else?”

“Can we have sex?”

Ryanne smiles at them, then shakes her head. “Yes. But please be courteous, right? I don’t want to have to come in for a check-in and see someone with their pants down.”

“You have no finesse,” Lawson laughs as Ryanne heads to check on Carter. “You can’t just ask it like that!”

“Of course I can. I just did.”

They work out and play more games and spend some time looking at the babies. “Have you ever, like. Thought about having kids?”

Travis shrugs. “I’d have to adopt. And I don’t know if, like. I’d want to do that when I could kick it any day, basically.”

Lawson nods then reaches over and takes his hand gently. “Still cute to look at, though.”

Travis grins, nods. “Yeah. They are.”

They walk back hand in hand, not eager to get back to Travis’ room. Leaving isn’t an option, as Ryanne hasn’t cleared him despite him feeling great. Luckily, though, he has a 6’3” bundle of entertainment attached to him at all times.

They eat while watching a movie, as usual, and that ends with cuddling, as usual.

“Hey,” Law whispers, nudging him. “If you don’t want to -- have sex, tonight or ever, you can let me know. It’s okay if it was just kind of… Something you said while you were high.”

Travis shakes his head, “No, no. I meant it. I just -- I don’t really know how to initiate that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Lawson says, like Travis being nervous hadn’t even occurred to him. “Okay.”

They cuddle back up for a while and -- nothing happens that night. Lawson slips his hand under the hem of Travis’ shirt and pets at his happy trail for an hour until they doze off.

The next night, though, Lawson passes him a piece of gum after dinner and kisses him. Hard and passionate and full of love, and Travis wraps his arms around Law’s neck and kisses him back. They get into it, grinding against one another and panting into each other’s mouths, and Lawson rubs Travis’ back when he has to turn away for a coughing fit -- and then goes back to kissing him like that was no big.

Law takes his hand first, pressing it flat against his abs over his shirt, then gently slipping his hand under his cotton tee and letting him splay his hand over Law’s abs.

“Your hand is cold,” he laughs quietly, pressing their foreheads against one another’s.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Travis laughs in response, stroking his thumb over an ab. He pushes up and Lawson grabs the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head easily.

It’s his turn now, and Law reaches and gently plays with the hem of his shirt. After a moment, he lifts, but Travis is quick to hold his hand down. “Just -- give me a second.”

“We can leave it on if you’re more comfortable like that.”

Travis shakes his head, “No. I -- I can still. I want to take it off, I just. I have a lot of scars, you know?” His eyes are burning a little now, and God does he hate that. “And… I’m -- you know it’s hard for me to gain weight. I’m kind of skinny.”

Travis forces himself to sit up and take a deep breath, and then lift his shirt off and throw it into the chair. He’s exposed, all of the lines of operations past on display, from the ones just above the waistband of his underwear to the ones on his tummy, his feeding port, on his ribs, between his small pecs. Some of them small, like little pocks in his skin, others larger, stretching several inches over his skin. Lawson pulls him in by the neck and kisses below his ear.

“You’re a fighter,” he whispers. “You’re so strong -- I love that about you. Every day is a battle for you and you make it look easy. You’re incredible.”

“I love you,” Travis whispers back, and Lawson nods, dipping down to kiss his collarbone, and then the scar beneath it.

“I know. I love you, too.”

Their sweats go next, and Travis jerks Lawson off for a while since he’s worried about, like, actually choking to death on a dick, but Law hardly seems to mind if the way he goes down on Travis is any indication.

The sex itself is… fantastic. He’s read articles and he knows that the first time is never actually that great but Lawson is so big and warm on top of him, holding him close and touching him like he’s something precious to be treasured.

He comes twice, but the first time is by accident.

“It’s okay,” Lawson promises. “We can just -- hang out and go again in a minute. It’s no big,” he promises, leaning over to grab a tissue and clean up what he could so it didn’t all get gross. Lawson stays inside him, kissing to keep busy and not lose the mood while they waited for Travis to get it back up.

When Law starts moving again, gently rolling his hips, he can’t help but think of how lucky he is. How lucky he is to have come this far, and to have been lucky enough to fall in love with Lawson.

He curls his arms around Lawson’s neck and says it again. “I love you,” he repeats. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Law nods, stroking a hand down his side. “Are you close again?”

Travis nods, so Lawson pulls back and brings Travis’ leg over his shoulder. “Okay.”

“Come here,” Travis says, pushing himself onto his elbows despite the strain on his hamstring, “we should kiss.”

Law grins and nods then pulls him in for a kiss while picking up his pace. Travis reaches between them, jerking himself off as quickly as he thought he could manage while Lawson sucked on his bottom lip.

The second time, they come together. Lawson manages to utter that he’s coming before spilling inside of Travis and the feeling of that, of Lawson coming in him, is what pushes him over the edge.

Lawson nudges him over, and Travis tries to scoot to make a little room, thankful that Lawson didn’t decide to just lie on top of him. Travis turns onto his left, cuddling up to him and Law pulls the sheet over the two of them. “Still overrated?” He asks quietly, and Travis laughs.

“I love you,” he responds because it seems to be the only thing he can say tonight.

Even now, it makes Lawson grin and lean in to kiss his cheek. “Come on. Lets get cleaned up,” He reaches and pulls Travis’ cannula off, then climbs off the bed to pick him up.

“Stop!” Travis laughs, but he’s wrapping his arms around Lawson’s neck while he’s brought into the bathroom.

“I’m giving you the boyfriend experience!” Lawson laughs, gently setting him down and turning the water on.

(They have sex again, with Travis pinned up against the wall and Lawson holding him up. Travis’ dick is tired by the end of it, but he feels like he can deal. They have, like, a lot of time to make up for.)

In the morning, Travis nudges him with his knee. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Um, later Ryanne and, like. Claude or Shayne is gonna come in. And we’re gonna talk about stuff, like. If I die,” he swallows, searching Lawson’s face. “And I know it’s, like, heavy. So it’s fine if you don’t want to be in here for… That.”

Lawson nods. “Can I stay?” He asks after a moment, and Travis nods back.

“Yeah, of course. I just wanted to give you the option.”

Travis was right. Law sits and the back and tries not to make too much noise, but he’s crying while Travis talks so casually about how he doesn’t want to suffer, and that if he probably isn’t going to make it, he’d rather just be kept alive long enough to say goodbye to his family, if they can make it.

He puts on a brave face for Travis after, though, and smiles despite his red and wet eyes. “I love you,” he says, kissing his nose, “so much.”

Travis gets it. It’s not something the two of them discuss very often, but Travis has been talking about it since he could talk. He knows they need to be prepared.

Lawson goes home again, and after he does, Ryanne stops by to hand Travis a little stack of polaroids.

“For your wall,” she says. “I thought you might like some of you two just… being you two.”

They do go up on his wall. Moments the two of them would have never thought about -- taken from the doorway of the two of them playing cards, or cuddled together in bed. They’re perfect.

Travis dreams, again, about the endless road.

Soon Law’ll be going back to Arizona to start the season and everything goes back to normal. Carter recovers well from his surgery and gets to leave, like, properly go home and everything. Kevin still has to check in for a couple of weeks at a time, but for the most part, it’s just him and Patty. Even then, he can’t complain. He feels like he’s getting better. Months pass without anything going horribly, awfully wrong.

And then he coughs up blood.

It’s a normal day, just like any other. He’s doing his breathing exercises before he calls Lawson and he spits up mucus again, but this time it looks a little different.

“Shayne!” He calls, and a second later Shayne’s head pops into the door. “Blood,” he explains, offering the bowl.

He takes a look, then nods. “I’ll let Ry know and we’ll get you checked out later.”

“I coughed up blood today,” he mentions casually, and Lawson looks concerned.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Travis nods. “My throat feels a little raw but that’s probably all it is. I’ll just take some antibiotics and be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods again. “This happened to me all the time when I was younger. It’s just ‘cause my throat is, like, irritated and raw or whatever.”

Ryanne confirms it, telling Shayne to get him some extra vitamin K in his dailies and some antibiotics to make sure he doesn’t get an infection.

As it turns out, he wakes up days later sweating. He clicks the call button, trying to open his eyes with his head pounding. Even waking up, he feels like he’s run a marathon. He hits the button again, and then again until he hears someone coming into his room. He can hear them calling out to someone else but his head is pounding, it feels like there's cotton stuffed in his ears.

He feels the sheets being pulled off of him and his cannula gently taken off so his sweatshirt can be removed, and then his cannula replaced as it had been. Time kind of melts together, but through cracked lips and a sore throat he asks them to let Lawson know he’s okay, and that he’s not dead yet.

He wakes up again and feels a little better. He’s still got the sweating thing going and his throat hurts like a bitch and he probably won’t be getting up and walking around anytime soon, but it’s better than nothing.

He reaches for his water bottle and takes a long drink, thankful to have some left in there seeing as he feels he’s dying of thirst.

Ryanne comes in a little later and starts talking to him about a lung infection, and how he’s on, like, a million antibiotics now.

“We don’t know what it is as of right now, but we’re going to find out,” she nods. “Until then, we’re going to try to cover all the bases. So for the time being, try and stay in bed as much as you can. And no more hanging out with Nolan, not in person at least. You already know you’re not a hundred percent, so I want you on bed rest, leave that energy to fight off whatever infection is going on in there.”

Travis nods, “Okay. You’re the boss.” She smiles, then makes sure his call button is right where he needs it to be.

“Feel better, and let me know if anything at all changes.”

For a while, it’s just annoying. He’s coughing up more mucus, spending more time sleeping, taking more pills, wasting more time in bed. Sometimes Nolan will come up to his door and make faces at him in the window (and occasionally throw him vending machine snacks), but otherwise, Shayne and Claude are his only physical friends. Nolan and Law he talks to on the phone.

Lawson keeps promising to visit in February, and they spend hours meticulously planning day-long trips, calling Ryanne in to see if she’ll let Travis go hot air ballooning or up to NYC for a day.

“It’ll be great,” he promises, “maybe even your family can come down.”

Those are the best parts of his days. The parts where he forgets he feels like utter shit and can look forward to going to the art museum with his boyfriend and eating hot dogs off street carts. He stops being self-conscious around Law, too. Doesn’t feel weird sending him snaps of him doing his treatments or make sure that he’s wearing a shirt in all of his snaps (he even sends a nude once, which is a different experience. Nolan gives him a lot of shit for that one).

He gets used to it, just being a little sicker than before. Gets used to the extra meds and getting winded faster and the sore throat.

“You’re a fucking fighter,” Lawson says one day over facetime with a fond smile on his face. “Just every minute, day in and day out. You never stop,” he waits for a beat. “I’m so in love with you.”

He’s supposed to be getting better. And he isn’t… getting worse, but he’s not improving and that’s what Ryanne is concerned about. She’s reminding everyone to be patient, but Travis is pretty sure she’s saying it for herself.

And then he starts coughing up more blood and gets placed as priority on a donor list.

He texts Nolan that he’s sorry when he finds out about that. Nolan has been waiting just as long as he has, and now he’s above him on the fucking list. ‘it’s fine,’ Nolan replies, ‘shit happens. try not to die ����’

They’re not sure what the bacteria even is, so he’s getting tests done every day. It feels like it happens overnight, really. One day he’s working off a little infection and the next he’s coughing himself awake because he can’t breathe.

He’s never felt this kind of panic before, his fingers shaking as he presses his call button and sucks breath after breath in but nothing comes in. It’s Claude coming in through the door, rushing to his bedside.

“Come on, lean over,” he says quickly, holding TK with an arm across his chest and hits him with a flat palm over the bottom ribs. TK gasps but nothing comes out, and Claude does it again, and again before Travis is coughing, spitting mucus onto the floor. He gasps and it’s not a full breath, but it works. “Here,” Claude says, handing him a dish to cough up mucus into, helping him sit up. “You okay?” He asks.

Travis nods, eyes teary and face a violent red.

“Let's do some time in the vest,” Claude takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna call Ryanne and ask her to come in.”

He has another long day of tests, of being wheeled in and out of rooms, lots of vest time, lots of breathing exercises he doesn’t remember being so hard.

He knows it’s bad when he asks Ryanne if she thinks it’s too late to order a balloon arch for his funeral and she tells him not to make jokes like that.

“I’m gonna die,” he tells Lawson on facetime that night. “I think, like. I think I might actually… I might actually do it this time.”

Ryanne tells him the next day, “We’re seeing that your left bronchial tube is just about clogged with mucus, so we want to give you lots of rest and make sure your body isn’t wasting any energy it could be using to fight the bacteria.”

He feels bad, mostly. He cries to Claude about how awful he feels, letting Lawson and his family and everyone down, and Claude tells him tomorrow might be the day they find the pill that kills whatever’s infesting his lungs.

He keeps that in mind, but every day the spirometer reading is getting lower and lower.

“I think it’s in our best interests to put you on a ventilator,” Ryanne tells him solemnly. “And maybe call your family and ask them to come on down.”

Travis’s eyes are burning and his throat is tight. “Can you do it?” He asks. “And call Lawson, too?”

Ryanne nods readily. “Of course,” she assures him, “I know it’s a difficult conversation, and you feel like you’re letting them down, Travis, but they know. They know you’re trying.”

She makes sure he’s feeling okay, and that he doesn’t want her to stay and talk before excusing herself to make those calls. “Hey, Ry?” He calls as she stands, and she turns and tilts her head.

“I don’t want to suffer,” Travis says, and he’s clenching his fists to keep from crying. “And I don’t want to make everyone watch me suffer.” God knows they’ve done enough of that. “So -- if you don’t think I’m gonna make it,” he shakes his head, and his voice cracks on the second half of the sentence, “just turn it off and let me go.”

She looks at him a long moment, then nods earnestly. “Okay, Travis.”

Lawson calls him twenty minutes later, and for a moment it’s just the both of them breathing into their phones. “I just need to hear you right now,” Lawson says, voice raw. “Just talk about anything.”

Their call isn’t long -- his mom calls him after, and Lawson promises to see him soon and talk to him even sooner so that he can talk to his mom now.

She sounds sad and tired, and Travis can’t stop himself from apologizing over and over and over.

“You make me so proud,” she tells him, voice tight, “I don’t want you to feel sorry for fighting. Every day, babydoll. Every day you make me proud.”

They come in later to get him set up on the machine, helping him fit the mask over his face.

“If you feel like you need a little break, go ahead and pull it off, but you should be able to talk and whatnot through it all. We’ll take it off for meals and to shower but other than that, it should be on.”

“Okay,” Travis nods, then lets Claude hold the mask on to ensure the seal fits properly around his nose and mouth, then fixes the straps around his head.

“Comfortable?” He asks, and Travis nods. “You want to be alone?” And Travis nods again but points to the other end of the room where his stuffed frog is sitting on his shelf. Claude grins and crosses the room, then tosses the frog to him. “Get some rest, kid.”

a knock at his door and he looks up to see Nolan behind his mask, and he tosses a pack of twinkies to him. There’s a note taped onto them, so he pulls it off and unfolds it.

‘don’t leave me alone with fucking Kevin’

It makes him laugh, looking up to Nolan, who is smiling even behind his laugh. Travis tosses him a thumbs up and Nolan nods then turns and walks down the hall to his room.

A good thing, though, is that he gets to wake up with Lawson beside him. He’s tidying Travis’ room because of course he is, he’s an angel.

Travis pulls at the strap of his ventilator and speaks. “Lawson,” he says, and his heart melts at the way Law turns and lights up. He pulls his mask off, lifting his arms for Lawson to hug him.

“I missed you,” he says, “God, I missed you so much. Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Travis says quickly, hands searching for Lawson’s jaw, “Yeah, we can still kiss.”

Lawson does it, kissing him like it’ll fill his lungs with air.

They don’t do much but talk. Travis is a lot weaker these days, so he has to take a nap in the middle of the day while his pump feeds him but Lawson doesn’t mind waiting around. His family is meant to be coming around today, too, and Lawson is gonna get to meet them and everything.

And he does, in the middle of the night.

He’s taking the moment to just… appreciate Travis. To thank whoever is listening for bringing him into Law’s life and allowing him to be touched the way Travis has touched him. He asks them to keep Travis safe, and to help him now because he needs it now. There is so much they haven’t done and want to do, so many promises that Lawson needs to be able to make good on.

“Lawson?” A voice whispers, and he looks up, wiping his cheeks on his sleeve and standing.

“Hi,” he says, offering a hand, but she ignores it, walking around the bed to hug him.

“Travis has told us so much about you,” she says, hugging him tight before stepping to let her husband hug him. “How are you holding up?”

Law finally gets a handshake from Chase, then sniffles and shrugs with a tired smile. “We’ve had better nights,” he admits, and she nods, then looks over to where Travis is lying in his bed.

“Yeah. Um. I think -- I think we all have.” She touches his face gently, pressing his hair back. “How long have you been here?”

“I arrived at, like. Five this morning.”

Her face drops. “Oh, honey. You need some rest. Travis wouldn’t want you up all night.”

“I didn’t actually, um. It was kind of last minute, so I’d need to actually get a room.”

“You don’t have one?” She asks. “Stay with us.”

“I wouldn't want to --” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“No, no. Come on. You’re gonna come down the street with us and get some rest.

He doesn’t get much rest, but Terri doesn’t object to getting coffee bright and early to go in to see TK.

“He always loved writing those letters,” she says, looking down at him with so much love and adoration in his eyes. “He used to get so excited just to send them out. Even when only one came back he just -- lit up. He thought it was the coolest thing. And he’d… he’d send a dozen out in a week, and personalize each one. Wouldn’t just copy one to send out to everyone.”

She takes a breath. “I think he was lonely,” she admits, looking up to Lawson for a second. “I think he really struggled with… touch. So many of the people he’s felt connected to were never able to touch him, and he’s always felt out of place out in public. He didn’t like the pity, or being stared at and -- I can’t blame him.

“Thank you,” she says, looking up at him once more. “For responding to him. I didn’t even know he was still writing those, but. Of course he was. He keeps you on your toes, this one,” she laughs wetly, and Lawson smiles, nodding.

“Yeah, yes. I know what you mean.”

“You mean a lot to him,” she says solemnly. “I could tell when he came home that he just. Absolutely adored everything about you. Wouldn’t stop talking about you, or how close your hometown was, or ‘I wonder if Lawson would like this, I wonder what Lawson is doing, take a picture of me so I can send it to Lawson.’”

Terri pets his head. “That’s -- this is my little boy.” She takes in an uncertain breath and Law can see where her hand is beginning to tremble inside Travis’. “When he was born and we… when he was diagnosed, they didn’t know if he’d live to take his first steps. And then he did, and then it was kindergarten, and he did that, too. And then it was his tenth birthday, and then high school, and then graduation, and every time, he does it. But here he is. He proves them wrong. Every single time, he does it.” She gasps in a breath, and Lawson offers her a tissue that she accepts.

“I don’t know what to do without him,” she says, shaking her head, taking another gasping breath in. “I don’t know how to go on without… without him. Everything we do we do it for him, you know?” She asks, and she isn’t looking at Lawson, but Lawson nods. Yes, he thinks. I know.

“We do it because we know he’s fighting here for us. And I don’t… I don’t know what to do if he can’t…” She shakes her head. “I know he’s trying for us.”

“He can still turn around,” Lawson says, wiping at his own eyes. “I talked to Ryanne, and you know, she says things can turn around within a couple of hours. The -- the ventilator is just a precaution, so his body can focus on fighting the infection.” He feels helpless, despite that. This is Travis’ mother, who has been here every step of the way, and she’s… it’s obvious she’s never seen him like this before. It’s scary, more than anything else.

She nods, and for a moment they just sit and touch him, appreciating the warmth of his skin. “Excuse me,” she says, standing. “If he wakes up and sees I’ve been crying -- I don’t want to upset him.”

He nods, taking Travis’ hand while she sniffles in the bathroom. He doesn’t really… look sicker than usual. Without the mask, Law isn’t sure he’d know anything was different.

There’s not a ton of time for their usual flirting that day. Travis is eating or getting tests done or talking to his parents and when he’s not doing that, he’s dozing off. Travis feels sort of bad that he can’t give Law the attention he deserves, but being awake is pretty tiring and he’s really just trying to make it day-to-day for now.

It does make his heart flutter, though, to wake up and see Lawson grinning as he leafs through their old letters one-handed so the other can be holding Travis’ with his other. Travis gives him a little squeeze, and Law looks up quickly and his smile widens.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” He says, pulling his chair in closer.

“Hi, baby.”

“How do you feel?” Law asks, and Travis shrugs.

“I’ve been better.”

“Yeah,” Law laughs. “I bet.”

“What about you?” Travis asks. “How do you feel?”

Lawson shrugs right back at him. “Disappointed that this is how I ended up seeing you. I was hoping our next time seeing one another would have more art museums and stuff like that. Happy, though, that I get to see you at all. Grateful that I get to be here with you.”

“Sorry my timing was… shitty.”

Law shrugs. “There’ll be more games to play.”

“Are you in trouble for coming out here?”

“No, no. I explained and they all understand.”

Travis gives him a little smile. “Good. I’m glad. Can we play cards?”

Lawson grins and nods, then walks over to the desk and finds their deck of cards while Travis moves around in bed, crossing his legs and sitting up so Law has room to sit while they play.

“What’s the winner get?” Law asks, flicking the cards through his fingers to shuffle.

“Kisses.”

Just like the chest infection itself, it happens overnight. Law has been taking turns with the rest of TK’s family to stay with him through the night to make sure he always has company in his room, and they get a call from his father.

“Doctor Giroux wants us all to come in,” he says, swallowing. “Travis is ready.”

No one says anything on the walk to the hospital, each of them bundled up to keep the cold out, and Dr. Giroux meets them in the lobby to explain what’s happening.

“His lung function is extremely unlikely to recover, and no donors are available at the moment. We could keep him on ventilation for a few more days, maybe one or two at most, but Travis has asked that we let him go.” She swallows, wringing her hands together. “He won’t feel any pain or anything. We have some sedatives ready -- he’s already a little sedated, which he asked for, but he’s all still there. Talking is pretty hard for him right now but he understands what’s happening and what we’re all saying. When he decides it’s time, we’ll administer some more and he’ll just fall asleep.”

It’s very quiet at this hour. He can’t hear much, just ambient noise of silence and the occasional sob or sniffle from Terri as Chase tries to calm her down before they go in.

Nolan has dragged a chair out into the hallway and angled it to look into Travis’ room. His mask is on, his hair messy and pushed away from his face, his cheeks wet and his eyes red.

“I just want to fucking hug him,” he says, not looking up when Lawson approaches him. “I just wanna fucking let him know it’s gonna be okay and -- I’d fucking do it, too, but I know how mad he’d be if I went in there and got myself sick. He’d never forgive himself. I just fucking hate that I can’t be there for him. Some fucking friend I am.”

Lawson doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything as Nolan wipes at his cheeks.

“I love him so much,” Nolan continues, voice breaking. “He’s my best friend. And -- and I’ve never told him that.”

“Tell him,” Lawson says, “you still have time. Tell him, Nolan. He’d love that. I don’t think there’s anything he’d rather hear more.”

Lawson helps him up, rolling his tank behind him as he walked up to the door. Claude was standing there and reached out, patting him on the back.

“Teeks,” Nolan says, struggling through his tears.

Even the way he moved was slow like he was struggling. He turned over in bed and fixed his half-lidded eyes on the three of them in the doorway.

“I love you, man.” Lawson reached out and rubbed his back, trying to encourage Nolan to go on. “You’re my best friend,” he sobs, “and I don’t know what I’m gonna go without you. And -- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I’m just -- I’m scared to be without you,” Nolan sobs again and makes a move like he might try to walk into the room and Claude intercepts him. He’s sobbing uncontrollably as Claude holds him up, walking him out of the doorway and encouraging him quietly while trying to pull him out of Travis’ view.

Travis watches as Lawson wipes both of his cheeks and takes a deep breath, finally making eye contact with him before a look of recognition swept his face at the sweater he’d picked.

After what seems like an eternity, Lawson comes over to him, and Travis manages a smile.

Law tucks his hand into his sleeve and wipes his eyes, then kisses his forehead but otherwise doesn’t say anything. Travis knows that people don’t usually know what to say when they’re faced with loved ones dying, so he doesn’t hold it against him.

Lawson takes his free hand, kissing that, too. It takes another little while but everyone gathers in, circling around his hospital bed.

Travis squeezes Lawson’s hand where he’s kneeling beside the bed, head hung and trying to pull it together and be strong for Travis. He looks up and -- it’s not working, evidently, but Lawson manages a smile at him. His blue eyes are red, his cheeks wet, his nose running, but Travis can only smile at him. “I love you,” he says, and if Law weren’t so close he wouldn’t have heard it.

He nods back at Travis. “I love you, too.”

“Will you turn my light on?”

Lawson doesn’t seem to get what he means for a second, and then he nods, reaching over to flick on the star lamp. For a second Travis looks up and around, looks towards the ceiling and looks at all the little dots.

He’s dying, he knows, and he’s gonna go join the stars.

He looks back to Lawson again. “Hold me?”

“He wants me to hold him,” Lawson sniffs, looking to Ryanne. “Can I -- can I hold him?”

She nods. “Let’s be careful of the tubes and the cords, but,” she nods again, placing a gentle hand on Travis’ leg, “we can do that for you.”

They all spend a minute helping out, maneuvering Travis gently this and that way until Lawson was in bed with him, Travis’ head and back against him, safely in his arms. There wasn’t a single place he felt safer.

“If anyone has -- anything to say to Travis,” Ryanne says, clearly trying to keep her voice even, “now is the time.”

His father starts. “Travis,” he says, “you’ve made our lives so special. You were a blessing to us, in every way. And if I could do this, all of this, over I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Every morning you woke up you made me proud, and you made your Grandfather proud. I know he’s so proud of you. Thank you for fighting for us, son. You’ve done everything you could for us. I love you.” He picked up Travis’ hand and kissed it.

His mom says a lot of the same. “You’re so strong,” she cries, “I know you don’t feel it, but I do. Thank you for being so strong for us all these years, I know it wasn’t easy. I know you struggled. We did, too. But to see you grow and become such a strong, selfless, caring young man has been the greatest blessing. I love you, babydoll. I love you so much. Thank you for hanging on so long for us. We know you love us too, Trav. You can let go. We’re gonna be okay.”

Chase goes next, but there isn’t much he can say with how much he’s choking on his sobs. “I love you, baby brother,” he finally says, before Terri pulls him into her chest and holds him tight there.

Ryanne smiles at him wetly. “This is never easy,” she starts. “But I speak for Claude and myself when I say you are such a bright and beautiful soul. I couldn’t have asked for a better patient and friend to spend my days with. Thank you for being such a source of joy, and for letting us watch you turn into such a nice young man. I know you didn’t always follow the rules, Travis, but you never let my job get boring. And I know -- I know it, in my heart -- that Ivan would be so proud of you,” she nods, a sweet smile on her lips despite her tears. “And he would be so happy for you that you stopped waiting to be healthy to do what you wanted. You tell him hello for all of us down here, and you have fun up in the stars.

Shayne rubs the back of his hand. “You’re such a good kid,” he says. “And you were so much fun to see every day. You’re so bright, Teeks, and strong and smart and selfless.” He swallows. “I’m so happy to have known you, man. I really am. Thank you for inspiring us, and showing us all how to be better.”

It’s Lawson’s turn now, but he doesn’t know if he can get the words out. “Um,” he says, and sniffles. “I don’t really… I don’t really know what to say to you,” he admits quietly. “You’ve changed my life in so many ways, and I’m just -- I’m so grateful. I’m so glad you sent me that letter, and that I responded to it. I’m so glad you’re in my life. For months getting to read letters from you was just -- the highlight of week. And meeting you… you’re so special, Travis, I’ve never met anyone with a heart like yours. No one has ever touched my life like you have. This has been -- you’ve given me something so special, that no one else is ever going to be able to replicate. So… thank you.” Lawson hugs him and kisses the back of his head, and then reaches around to wipe his cheeks dry. “Don’t be scared,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you, and nothing is ever going to hurt you again.”

Travis looks to Ryanne and gives her a little nod. His chest hurt like something was sitting on top of it, keeping him from breathing in all the way. He could feel everyone’s gentle hands on him, just wanting to touch him and make sure he knew they were there for him. Lawson was rubbing at his arms, chest shaking behind Travis. He blinks slowly, then looks up to the ceiling while Ryanne pressed a button.

A lot happens in such a short moment.

Lawson can feel it, the last pull of breath off of the ventilator. Travis squeezes his hand and shuts his eyes. Chase breaks even more and Mr. Konecny pulls him in, holding what was left of his family. Shayne and Ryanne both look solemn, standing over his bed. Lawson can hardly hear Nolan sobbing into Claude’s arms out in the hallway over his own cries, holding Travis tight in his arms, repeating that he loved him over and over in case Travis could still hear him. He needed to know that he was loved.

No one sleeps.

Ryanne and Shayne have to fill out paperwork, but they let Travis’ parents and brothers stay in the room before they brought his body out. When Lawson leaves, Claude is sitting with his back to the wall, holding a still crying Nolan.

He helps Travis’ family pack his things up. It takes a long time just to clear his photo wall, to pull the magnets on his window frame down one by one. He gives Travis’ polaroid to Nolan.

“Maybe you and Nico can take some pictures on it,” he says. “I think Trav would want that.”

His funeral is hard. It’s snowing in Clachan, and Lawson hates how few people there are. So many of the people he’d touched couldn’t attend, and Lawson knows Travis wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t care. It doesn’t stop him for wishing there was more.

He stays with the Konecnys for the days he’s in Clachan, attending the service. When it’s all finished and his casket is laid in its plot, Lawson sits on Travis’ bed and cries again, for what seems like hours.

When he finally gains some composure, he goes out to the back patio with a blanket and looks up at the sky.

Travis was right. It’s stunning.

“I miss you so much,” he says to the sky, “but I -- you fought every day. Every second of every day, so. I’m trying to keep you alive by doing that. I just -- I miss you so much.” He takes a deep breath, watches a star streak across the sky and laughs wetly. “Oh,” he sighs, “Travis.”

He’s never been a huge one on religion or the afterlife, but he knows in that moment that Travis is with him, watching him.

Before he gets on his plane in Arizona, Terri gives him an envelope. “Travis wanted you to have this,” she says, taking a deep breath. She thanks him for coming out, and for spending time with them, and then she waves and drives away.

He doesn’t open it until he’s back in Scottsdale, sitting on the edge of his bed. One piece of paper has been written all over, but the two others have been torn out of a book. He unfolds the both of them, opening the page to read the story of Perseus and Andromeda, and how to find their constellations in the sky.

He reads the letter next.

> Law,  
  
If you’re reading this, I’m dead.  
  
First I wanna start off by saying that I’m sorry for your loss. Going through it with Provy was harder than any kind of diagnosis I’ve ever received, and I’ve never lost someone I was deeply in love with, but I’m still sorry for crapping out on you. I promise I didn’t mean to. I don’t think I need to say much more when I tell you that I’m trying to spend as much time as humanly possible with you. I hope it wasn’t too sudden or painful or anything like that, and if it was, at least I didn’t suffer for very long. If it wasn’t, hopefully you got to see me before I died. That means so much to me. Thank you for being strong when I couldn’t and helping me feel safe. You always did such a good job of that. If you didn’t get to see me, on purpose or otherwise, I’m sure you have a reason for it. And whatever that reason is, even if it was just because it’d be too hard to watch, I respect that. I don’t think I’d have the strength to watch while you died.  
  
The point of this letter isn’t really to talk about that, though. I really just want to tell you that I love you.  
  
In the past… year or so, you’ve taught me so much. That falling isn’t always bad. To trust. To have faith. To love someone. I don’t want to get all mushy and in my feelings but I’ve just never felt how I do with you with anyone else. So, thank you. Thank you for being my soulmate, my best friend, my Lawson. No one else could have done what you did for me.  
  
You’re sleeping in my arm chair right now and I think you are absolutely stunning. I’ve never thought it was possible to love every trait about someone, but here we are. Here I am, adoring the way you make sure my feet are tucked in before you leave the room. The way you laugh and smile. The way you’re always trying to help and to learn things about CF. The way you always know what to do to get me back in a good mood. The way you roll with the punches. The way you’re so loyal to me. The way your voice sounds when you’re tired. The way you hold me when we’re asleep together in my hospital bed. The way you carry around hand sanitizer for me. Here I am, finding things to love about you cramped up in an arm chair trying to sleep.  
  
I would have never, ever, ever in a million years guess that I got to live out a love story.  
  
I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I know I say that a lot, but I am. When I’m with you, nothing else and no one else matters. I’ve never felt like the sick kid around you. I’ve never felt ashamed of my disease around you. You never even acted like it was anything out of the norm.  
  
There was something about the way that you helped tap my back when I’d wake you up in the middle of the night coughing. About the way you’d go get me cold water. About the way you’d step between judgemental stares in public when I couldn’t stop coughing. About how you don’t seem to mind when I have to hack up mucus in the middle of sex, or how you just don’t care that I’m not comfortable giving you head. You’ve never made me feel like a freak for that. You don’t love me in spite of my disease. You love me with it, with all of the treatments and scars and late night coughing sessions and pills and conditions that come with it.  
  
It makes me feel so special that you love me like that.  
  
My parents are my parents, and my brother is my brother. They’re stuck with me, you know? And Ryanne and Claude and Shayne are all stuck with me, too. Nolan, Carter, Ivan, all stuck with me. But you’re the first time I’ve ever felt chosen.  
  
No one has ever chosen me before.  
  
And -- you could have had anyone. You could have had anyone from anywhere and you picked a sick kid from a one stop sign town. I don’t know how to tell you how special that makes me feel. I don’t think there are words to describe it.  
  
I know losing someone is hard. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Law, but I do know one thing. You gave me such an utterly incredible life.  
  
Yes, it was short. But it was going to be short before you received that letter, anyway. If I had never met you, Law, I would have died miserable and sad and lonely. I’d have had my friends and family, but at least this way, I knew what it felt like to be chosen and cherished.  
  
You make me feel like I’m in a movie, Law. Like I’m on top of the world.  
  
I know telling you not to miss me won’t work, so I won’t do that. But what I can say is thank you. Thank you for making me feel loved and normal, and like I wasn’t an expense, or like I was just hanging out waiting to die. Thank you for showing me how to live and love, and how to stop waiting.  
  
That being said, I hope when you look up and see the stars, you think of me. I’ll be watching over you.  
  
I love you.  
  
Sincerely yours, forever and always,  
  
Travis Konecny.

Travis blinks himself awake, taking in the familiar scene.

He’s in a red pickup, leaning against someone’s arm. He can hear birds chirping and soft country floating through the speakers. The sunroof is open and the windows are down, warming his skin while the breeze cools him off. The road stretches on for miles in front of him with great, massive plains on either side of them. Wildflowers grow in clusters on the roadside.

He turns, looking over at the driver, but Lawson’s eyes are on the road. He glances over at Travis and adopts a grin like they’re sharing a secret.

Travis’ face splits into a smile. He, for once, says nothing, just lets out a breathless little laugh and cuddles back up against him.

For the first time, he takes a deep, clear breath of fresh air.


End file.
